


i think of you in colors

by toewsin (haroldslouis)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Exasperated Cat Owner Patrick, Falling In Love, Figure Skating Coach Patrick, Happy Ending, Hockey Coach Jonathan Toews, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Retired Jonathan Toews, Shattuck-St. Mary's, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haroldslouis/pseuds/toewsin
Summary: Patrick's calm and uneventful life as a figure skating coach at Shattuck-St. Mary's is rudely disturbed when recently retired NHL-star Jonathan Toews arrives on campus as the new hockey coach.





	i think of you in colors

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BcaRrAsn3fu/?utm_source=ig_embed) poem. 
> 
> There is a rebloggable graphic for this fic [here](http://toewsin.tumblr.com/post/180802151163/new-fic-i-think-of-you-in-colors-by-toewsin).
> 
> I have no experience with either figure skating coaching or hockey coaching, nor have I ever been to Shattuck-St. Mary's; so please, take some of this with a little grain of salt.
> 
> Patrick as a cat owner was something my little hort needed, so I went and gave it to myself. More cats in 1988 fic! 
> 
> My first fic under a new pseud! Hope you'll enjoy it.

There’s many things that Patrick loves about his job, adores even. The close contact with his students and being able to watch them grow in their abilities over the course of the year. The time he spends on the ice, far away and out of touch with whatever that’s going on outside the rink. The other members of the skating staff, who don’t take him or themselves too seriously. The bright lights in the arena that illuminate the ice at all times of the day.

What he doesn’t love, however, is the nagging presence of the hockey team. Sure, it consists of obnoxious teenage boys, but it’s more than that. It’s the entire hockey staff, trying to hog the most ice time for the hockey team. It’s the messy locker rooms, the abominable state of the ice after practice, the overwhelming stench of deodorant throughout the arena, the chaos in the supplies room, the team bus blocking theirs.

There’s also the prestige and reputation of the hockey team that annoys him. Staff meetings aren’t complete without the hockey staff mentioning all the alumni that have gone up to the NHL, and how that’s supposedly a valid excuse for all the behavior mentioned above.

So when Stoneman stands up that evening during the communal dinner for students and staff to announce the pending arrival of Jonathan Toews as the new member of the hockey staff, Patrick can only roll his eyes while the hockey staff erupts in loud applause.

“You must be pleased with yourself, huh,” he says, looking at Sharpy across from him. “What’d you even manage to blackmail him with, anyway? Do you have embarrassing videos of him from your time at the Blackhawks?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Peekaboo,” Sharpy replies, shoving a bite of lasagna into his mouth. “Jonathan is my dear friend and he wanted to return to Shattuck.”

“Yeah, well, _Jonathan_ ,” Patrick imitates, “is thirty years old. He shouldn’t be leaving the NHL yet for this place.”

“You’re thirty yourself, Kaner.”

“Figure skating’s different,” Patrick argues. “But seriously, what’s he gonna do here? Create more NHL minions?”

“NHL minions?” Sharpy laughs, “We played NHL ‘18 last night, Kaner. And for someone who supposedly never plays, you were pretty damn good.”

“Skating DNA,” Patrick mumbles, stuffing his face with food.

“I think you’ll like Jonny,” Sharpy says, playing with the salt shaker. “He’s intense, just like you. I’m heading to the airport to pick him up tomorrow morning. Wanna come?”

“Hell no. Besides, I got one-on-one training from five until eleven. I doubt I’ll even be alive by the time he arrives on campus.”

Sharpy is clearly laughing at him now. “I might ask them to give him the room next to yours. You guys can keep each other awake with those crazy schedules you keep. Which of your students even asks for ice time at five in the morning?”

Patrick elects to ignore the first part, because any resistant comment would most likely end up with him rooming next to Jonathan Toews for the remainder of the school year. “Five a.m. is my own practice time, warm-up and everything.”

“Yikes,” Sharpy pulls a face. “Rough way to start a Monday. Remind me of how fortunate I am to coach at the lovely time of noon.”

“You must be sleeping with someone on the scheduling staff. Oh, wait, you are.”

Sharpy grins. “Being Abby’s trophy husband does have its perks, not gonna lie. Anyway, you got that corner room with the great view thanks to her.”

“Yeah, the view at four-thirty in the morning and nine at night is breathtaking.”

Sharpy hums, scraping the edges of his plate for the last remnants of lasagna. “You got yourself to blame for that. What do you even do exactly, after training?”

Patrick shrugs. “This and that, you know. Around campus.”

“So insightful.”

“As if cuddling your children for a total of five hours a day is so profound. You should get out more, I’m seeing some pudge.”

“Pudge?” Sharpy repeats, leaning away from the table to look at his stomach. “I fit as tightly in my skin as I did during my NHL days, thank you very much.”

“Guess I could ask Toews for the second opinion tomorrow,” Patrick shrugs, poking his tongue in his cheek and grinning at the disdainful look that Sharpy sends him.

“Unlike you, Jonny knows what’s good for him. He wouldn’t agree with you.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, why’s he moving closer to you?”

“Listen here, you little--”

“Evening, boys,” Abby says, dropping down into a seat next to Sharpy. “I’m feeling the love. What’s the argument about this time?”

“We’re not arguing,” Patrick and Sharpy say at the same time.

Abby raises her eyebrows, looking at her husband.

“Patrick’s being a dick about Toews. Hockey people in general. I’m pretty sure it’s ridiculous.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, Abby, but your husband needs a hobby. He’s too up in everyone else’s business.”

“Good,” Abby says, “I work too hard to get the good gossip.”

“Hey,” Sharpy protests. “I work hard.”

“Yes, honey, you do. I don’t know how you get yourself out of bed every afternoon.”

Patrick uses Sharpy’s distraction to stealthily remove himself from the table, taking up his dirty dishes to the kitchen. He stays around for a bit to help with the cleaning up, discussing the latest Gophers game with Peter, the permanent cook.

“Oh, before I forget,” Peter says, just as Patrick is hanging the wet dish cloth over the radiator. “This is for Mrs. Babbington.”

Patrick takes the package wrapped in tinfoil and gives it a brief sniff. “Smells great, Pete, thanks.”

“Anything for that beautiful lady,” Peter says, putting a hand against his heart.

Patrick grins. “You know it.”

He waves his goodbye to the other staff in the kitchen and pushes the side-door open. The kitchen is situated next to the herb garden, which was first laid out back in the 1880s. Patrick frequently takes this route back to his residence, inhaling the scents of the herbs and the last flowers. It’s the beginning of September and he can already feel the chill creeping into the evening air. He pulls the sleeves of his shirt over his knuckles and crosses the garden to St. Mary’s Hall, where most of the teachers’ residences are located.

“Hey, Pat,” Don says, getting up from behind his desk near the entrance.

“Hey, Don, packing in for the night?”

“Yeah, all done for the day. Gotta pick up my car at Shader’s.”

Patrick hums. “Got your winter tires put under already?”

Don nods. “They got her all ready for another Minnesota winter. Now all that’s left is for me to mentally prepare.”

“You never can, Don, you never can,” Patrick says solemnly before cracking a smile. “Have a good night, say hi to Shelley for me.”

“I will. You give my love to Mrs. Babbington.”

Patrick replies as he walks up the stairs. “Always do.”

When he gets to the door of his apartment, he puts his key in the lock, pushing his left foot and right shoulder against the door to put pressure on the wood. The lock clicks and Patrick leans back, opening the door and moving inside.

“Mrs. Babbington, you’ve got an offering,” he says, holding up the tinfoil package under his arm as he turns on the lamp by the door.

A soft meow comes from the right side of the room and Patrick looks over, seeing his cat stretch out her front paws on the shelf of the fireplace. She hops down smoothly and comes over, twisting her tail between his legs.

“Yeah, you can smell it already, huh?” Patrick laughs, bending down to scoop her up.

He lets her headbutt his chin a few times as he walks to the table, putting down the package and unwrapping it with one hand. The smell of tuna and spices picks up after he’s removed the wrapping, and he sets Mrs. Babbington down on the table. “Don’t make a mess, young lady,” he warns her, as she starts digging in.

After changing into a pair of comfy leggings and a large sweater, he spends the rest of the evening in his chair next to the fireplace. He quickly Skypes with his sisters, bringing Mrs. Babbington over to give a quick wave with her paw. There’s some training plans he still has to review, and he pours over them for two hours, his tea getting cold on the side table. It’s gone completely dark outside and he stands up to close the curtains. While he brushes his teeth, Mrs. Babbington nestles into her spot on his bed. He leaves his clothes on a chair by his bed and gets under the covers, propping a pillow against the headboard. Upturned on his nightstand is _Zodiacal Light in the Solar Corona_ and he picks it up. His eyes are starting to droop halfway through, but he manages to make some notes and finish up the chapter. He puts the book away and slides deeper under the covers, dragging the pillow back down.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Babbington,” he mutters, giving her a soft nudge with his toes. He doesn’t hear her soft _mrrrp_ , as he’s already asleep.

\--

It takes him a few laps around the rink the following morning before he starts to feel alive again, the exhaustion draining from his head and limbs. The rink is completely empty and the ice is smooth, letting him easily glide and spin across it. His beanie flies off in the middle of a spin, and he stops when he hears another pair of blades on the ice.

Samara’s holding his beanie, handing it to him once she’s come to a stop. “Morning,” she smiles, her curly brown hair pulled back into a bun.

“Hey, Samara, feeling good?” Patrick asks, both of them slipping easily into the warm-up routine they’ve set up at the beginning of the year.

They spend some time talking during their stretches, discussing the upcoming competition in October. The first hour, they work on Samara’s Biellmann spin until they’re both feeling hazy in their heads. Patrick’s gulping down a bottle of water while they review her spins on video, making remarks and notes on the speed and position.

The second hour is spent on step sequence, both of them gliding across the ice in a circular pattern before switching over to a serpentine pattern.

“Keep those edges deep,” Patrick says, watching as Samara goes through the last part of a sequence. “Remember, sharper curves by the end.”

By the end of the training, they discuss what they’ve practiced and what they’ll need to focus on for the coming days. He leaves her to her cooling down routine, and goes over to the other side of the ice, where Liam is warming up for his training session.

The morning goes by quickly and around noon, Patrick is doing his cooling down routine together with Dayna and her students. He hears the heavy doors of the rink close, the sound reverberating through the arena. Stretching his left arm over his head, he turns around to look.

Sharpy is walking past the ice, some of the boys from the hockey team following behind him. Someone’s walking next to Sharpy, and the second Patrick recognizes Jonathan Toews, he turns around again.

“Okay, good skate, everyone,” Dayna says, straightening up. “I’ll see some of you tonight, good luck on your classes and homework.”

“Good skate, guys,” Patrick nods, nudging Jane, whose face is still a furious shade of red. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the jump combinations.”

“Yeah,” she breathes out, giving him a bright smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Patrick skates off towards the side of the rink. He reaches over the side to grab his skate guards, pulls up his leg warmers and slides the guards over the blades. He opens up the gate of the rink and steps over the ramp, getting used to the feel of steady ground under his feet.

Once he gets to the coaches’ locker room, he sinks down on the bench and starts unlacing his skates. He tugs them off, turning and twisting his toes while he dries off the blades with a towel. He’s just pulled on a pair of sweats and sneakers, having put away his skates in their sheaths when the door of the locker room opens, and he hears Sharpy’s voice ring out.

“And here’s where the male coaches can change for training and ga--oh, hey Peeks!”

Patrick looks up at Sharpy coming into the locker room and promptly drops one of his skates from its sheath when Jonathan Toews follows in right after him.

“Oh, hi there,” Jonathan says, walking over. “I’m Jonathan, call me Jonny.”

Patrick nods, shaking his hand. “Patrick.”

Jonny’s eyes light up and he looks at Sharpy. “Another Patrick.”

“Yeah, but this one goes by Peekaboo.”

“No, I don’t,” Patrick says quickly, giving Sharpy a look. He looks back at Jonny, taking in the short haircut and the soft brown eyes. “Pat or Patrick is fine.”

“You’re one of the coaches here?” Jonny asks.

“Yeah, I’m one of the coaches, but uh, not hockey.”

“Oh, what do you coach?”

Patrick picks up his skate from where he’d dropped it on the floor and holds it up. “Figure skating, I coach grades ele--”

“Wait,” Jonny suddenly interrupts, looking inquisitively at his face. “Patrick, as in, Patrick Kane?”

He feels his breath lodge somewhere in his throat. He’s about to interrogate Sharpy on what the hell kinda nonsense he’s been telling Jonathan Toews about him, but then Jonny says, with an enthusiastic smile: “I think we played together in Juniors, right? Weren’t you playing for Honeybaked?”

“You remember that?” Patrick asks, his eyes widening. “That was, like, fifteen years ago.”

“Still,” Jonny shrugs, “I remember my team got our asses handed to us by you. You had the highest point-total at the end of that tournament, got the MVP trophy, too.”

Patrick is taken aback by Jonny’s memory, and the way Jonny seems to be impressed with his hockey. The sport he quit over a decade ago and tries to keep at a moderate distance. He clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, that was a good season. I remember you, too, of course. _Jonathan Toews_ , Shattuck’s sweetheart and NHL-bound.”

“You were, too,” Jonathan replies, raising his eyebrows at him.

He makes a face. “I was out before any of that talk became serious.”

“What happened, actually? I don’t remember, or maybe I never really got the news.”

He looks at Sharpy for a second, the muscle between his shoulder blades tensing up. “I, uh, broke my wrist,” he holds up his left hand, twisting it a little. “Didn’t heal properly, nasty break.”

“Nasty attack,” Sharpy bites out, the corners of his mouth turned down. He meets Patrick’s eyes and sighs, shrugging, “But yeah, life happens. And now Peeks has about half a dozen US Championships so it worked out.”

Patrick grins at Sharpy’s matter-of-fact tone. “Yeah, I’d say it worked out,” he turns towards Jonny, “You won’t believe how many times he’s told me that if one door closes, another one opens up.”

Jonny cracks a smile but gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Still, I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you. I remember your name was dropped at the Hawks a few times around the time that I was drafted.”

“It was hard for a bit but I always liked figure skating, too. Loved it even, enough to make up the years that I missed.”

“Yeah, but,” Jonny says, and a muscle pulls around his mouth. “Don’t get me wrong, figure skating’s… nice, I guess. But you had the potential to make it to the NHL, become one of the greats.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” Patrick says.

“Were you at the Olympics in 2010?”

Patrick looks off to the side, twisting his hands around the skate he’s still holding. “I wasn’t. A crappy landing on my Lutz two weeks before the Olympics had me up with my feet in a cast for a month.”

“The US hockey team won silver that year.”

“So? You won gold,” he takes a look at Sharpy, “Both of you did.”

“I’m just saying--”

“Listen, Jon,” Sharpy butts in, “I get it, but Pat had a really successful career, so--”

“What are you trying to say?” Patrick insists, looking intently at Jonny.

“I’m just saying,” Jonny repeats, “I wouldn’t have known what to do with my life in your case. After all, hockey’s got a bit more longevity, doesn’t it? Career-wise, money-wise, fame-wise. Ice skating seems like a far cry from that. I mean, I can’t remember for the life of me who won the gold medal for figure skating that year.”

Patrick stands up and meets Sharpy’s eyes, who looks a bit dumbfounded about the past few minutes. He doesn’t say anything, though.

Patrick sighs and with a curt, “I gotta go,” he walks past Jonny and Sharpy to the door, tugging the strap of his sports bag higher up on his shoulder. He pulls the door of the locker room open and says, “Evan Lysacek.”

“Hm?”

“Evan Lysacek won the 2010 Olympics.” He doesn’t slam the door behind him, but he wanted to.

\--

He doesn’t see much of Jonny during the first two months that he’s there. Sure, he’s there when Patrick is arguing with Theo about the amount of ice time that they take up with their teams. He’s across from him in the dining hall, laughing with Abby and making funny faces at Sadie, while Patrick talks football and recipes with Seabs. He’s on the staircase, passing by Patrick who averts his eyes to the books he’s carrying. He’s in the doorway of the locker room, just as Patrick’s leaving, ever so faintly brushing up against him as they move. He’s leaning with his forearms on the boards of the rink while Patrick is teaching Jeannie the layback spin, and Patrick feels his eyes on him for a few minutes, before he’s suddenly gone. Still, Patrick doesn’t really see much of him.

But then it’s Friday afternoon, and Patrick is curled up on one of the windowsills of the library’s bay windows. The library is empty, apart from him, Mrs. Babbington, and Gerta, who shuffles in and out of the library and moves between the shelves with the handed in books. He’s nearly finished with _Zodiacal Light in the Solar Corona,_ and he’s penning down some extra notes about the author’s recommended readings. He’s still in his sports attire, the legs of his leggings creeping up near his ankles, and his shoes lie on the floor below the window. The November chill creeps through the window and he rubs his socked feet together while he takes out a blue marker to underline a sentence on his notes.

He gets up after a while, slowly stretching out his stiff limbs before picking up his book. The library has an extensive section on astrophysics and Patrick has become familiar with in over the past three months. His socked feet make barely any sound on the hardwood floors as he moves over to the correct aisle. His fingers are still on the spine of the book as he’s placed it on the right shelf, when he suddenly hears a crash of books from a few aisles behind him.

“Gerta?” he says, walking around the bookcases, “You alright?”

He walks towards the aisle where the racket came from, ready to help Gerta out. He rounds the corner and looks straight at Jonny trying to balance the books he’s managed to hold onto.

“Oh,” Patrick says, walking closer and bending down to pick up the books that are scattered across the floor. “That’s school property, you know.”

Jonny’s cheeks are tinted pink as he gives Patrick a look. “There was this cat running around, making me trip.”

The corners of his mouth try to creep upwards as Patrick says, “That’s Mrs. Babbington.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Mrs. Babbington. She’s my cat and the school’s unofficial mascot, sort of.”

“Oh,” Jonny says, setting aside the pile of books he’s holding on a nearby empty shelf. “Is she even allowed to be here?”

Patrick shrugs, crossing his arms. “No one’s had any complaints,” he says, pointedly.

“Right, okay.” Jonny rubs his fingers across the side of his face, and Patrick’s momentarily transfixed on the five o’clock shadow on Jonny’s sharp jawline.

Averting his eyes, he clears his throat. “Need help with that?” he asks, gesturing at the pile of books. His tone betrays he’d rather do the exact opposite, but Jonny’s already nodding.

“Yeah, please. Gerta was called away to one of the classrooms just as I was entering the library, so she asked if I could put these back on her desk. I figured I’d just put them away for her, but then I realized I’ve no idea how this library is set up.” He drops a hand on top of the pile of books, thrumming his fingers on the cover.

“Okay,” Patrick says, looking at the books he’s still holding. “These ones are all mandatory English books, they’re on the balcony on the right.” He looks over to the other pile and skims through the titles. “Most of those are, too.”

He turns around and walks in the direction of the stairs, aware of the fact that he isn’t wearing any shoes and his socks are bright pink with blue hearts on them. They were a Christmas gift from Maddie last year. The wood of the narrow stairs up to the balcony creaks under his weight and he makes his way up, Jonny following behind him.

“Here,” he points at the section with the English books for grades six to eight. He takes out a few books from his own pile and puts them back on the shelves in the alphabetical order.

They move around the the shelves for a few minutes, placing back the books. Patrick mostly avoids looking at Jonny and only speaks when Jonny asks him things about the library. They’re down to the last few books and are back downstairs, in the Astrophysics section. Patrick’s just placed some of his own books back on the shelf. Jonny is standing behind him and he turns around, taking the last few books from Jonny’s pile to place them back. He’s put nearly all them up in their place, but the last one’s a large picture book on interplanetary dust which goes on the top shelf. He reaches up on the tips of his toes, holding the book by its spine. It’s heavier than he expected, though, and as he reaches it over his head, it goes tipping back. The book slips from his fingers and he hears a soft _thwack_ before it thumps on the floor.

He quickly turns around to the sight of Jonny rubbing his head, and he gives him a sheepish grimace. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Jonny gives him a grin, looking slightly bashful. “It’s fine,” he says, bending down to pick up the book. “But I think I’ll place it back, this time, if you don’t mind.”

Before Patrick can respond, Jonny’s in his space and reaching up his arm. He hears the sound of the book sliding across the shelf, but his focus is locked somewhere on Jonny’s collar bone peeking out of his shirt and on the warmth that Jonny emanates.

“Thanks,” Patrick says, once Jonny’s moved back again.

“It’s fine,” Jonny replies, looking around and pushing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Patrick follows the motion with his eyes, sees the fabric of Jonny’s jeans stretch across his thighs.

He yanks his head back up. “So, uh, I’ll see you around, then.”

“Sure,” Jonny nods, not saying anything else.

He takes that as his cue to leave, so he turns around and walks back to his spot by the window. Mrs. Babbington has nestled herself onto his closed laptop, and looks up with squinty eyes when he comes closer.

“C’mon,” he coaxes her, gently lifting her off of his laptop. “I need my stuff.” She gracefully moves her tail from side to side and settles back down once he’s gathered all of his things in his arms.

“You coming?” he asks.

She blinks back at him, not moving.

“Okay,” he sighs, giving her a quick pet on her head. “I’ll see you after training, then.”

He hitches his stuff up higher in his arms and walks away, not looking around to see where Jonny is. Just as he’s left the library and stepped out into the hallway, he realizes he’s not wearing his shoes.

“God,” he mutters, shaking his head at himself.

He turns back around, pushing the door of the library open with his shoulder. There’s no sight of anyone in the main area, so he walks on towards the windows. On the windowsill, next to his cat, sits Jonny, softly petting her back. She’s about to turn over to let him pet her belly when she notices Patrick, releasing a soft _mrow._

Jonny looks up and notices Patrick standing nearby. “Hey, back again? I was wondering why you didn’t take her with you.”

“She can stay,” he says, “She kinda makes up her own rules where she sits and goes during the day, so. I came for my shoes.”

Jonny looks down to where Patrick’s gesturing. “Oh, of course.”

He walks closer and sets down his stuff on a nearby desk. After picking up his shoes from the floor, he tugs them over his feet. Looking up, he watches Jonny scratch Mrs. Babbington’s chin as she purrs approvingly.

“Don’t let her trick you into following her to the kitchen,” Patrick warns. “She’s a menace and will easily become twenty pounds if it’s up to her.”

Jonny laughs, the soft sound filling up the corner of the library. “I won’t let her tempt me, I promise.”

“Good,” Patrick replies. “That’s--good.”

“I hope your training session goes well tonight,” Jonny offers.

Patrick’s a little taken aback, as the entire week he’s been arguing with Theo over the length of the hockey team’s possession play interfering with the resurfacing of the ice in between their training sessions.

“Thanks,” he says, eventually. “You too.”

He picks his stuff back up and turns around, walking out of the library again. He has every intention to leave any disconcerting thoughts about Jonathan Toews within those walls. It doesn’t work very well.

\--

Over the years that he’s known Sharpy, he’s come to realize that his life is infinitely more difficult whenever his friend is involved. Tonight, he comes to that conclusion once more.

He’s completely drained from his evening training session, pushing through the door of St. Mary’s Hall with his sports bag. His beanie is pulled low over his ears and he’s too busy focusing on not falling over when he notices Sharpy standing by the desk, flapping around an envelope at him.

“Evening,” he grins, his hair wet from a shower. He’s wearing a dark green tracksuit, which, by a miracle, is devoid of any baby-related stains. “Good session?”

Patrick shrugs, dropping his sports bag with a thump. His cold fingers begin to tingle now that he’s inside the warmth of the hall. “It was okay. Theo was being an asshole again, though. Seriously, how do you even work with that guy?”

“C’mon, he’s not that bad,” Sharpy says, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “He’s a good coach. Besides, compared to Jonny on the ice, Theo’s a walk in the park.”

Patrick hums dismissively, fixing his gaze on the envelope Sharpy’s holding. He sees the logo of the University of Minnesota and quickly reaches out the snatch the envelope from Sharpy’s fingers. Sharpy’s still got his hockey reflexes, though, and he holds it out of reach from Patrick.

“Now, imagine my surprise,” Sharpy begins, smiling waggishly. “I’ve just come down here to snoop through your mail and then I find this.” He holds up the envelope in Patrick’s face and Patrick takes it from him.

“So what?” Patrick mutters, yawning as he opens up the envelope.

“What’s it say?” Sharpy asks, eyes on Patrick’s face as he reads the letter.

“Just an advertisement,” he says, trying to play it off.

“You’re the worst liar.” Sharpy fishes the letter out of his hands and reads through it. “Dear Mr. Kane,” he reads out loud, “We congratulate you on passing all of the first year courses with a grade point average of… 4 point 1? Jesus, Pat.”

“It’s not a big deal, okay,” Patrick insists, grabbing the letter back and tucking it away in his coat pocket.

“You following university courses without telling any of us?” Sharpy asks, his blue eyes wide. “That _is_ a big deal.”

“I was going to tell you guys, I was just--I don’t know, waiting it out.”

Sharpy looks around, setting his hands on his hips in disbelief. “Waiting it o--for what? You got a GPA of four point one, Peeks. What degree are you even doing?”

Patrick rubs his fingers under the edge of his beanie, smoothing down his curls. “An online Bachelor in astrophysics.”

For maybe the first time ever, Sharpy has nothing to say. He rolls his eyes, tugging on Sharpy’s sleeve. “Yeah, I know.”

“But, seriously,” Sharpy starts, but Patrick cuts him off.

“Can we just go to my apartment first? I gotta dump this stuff in the washing machine and Pete gave me some salmon for Mrs. Babbington.”

“Fine,” Sharpy says, and he walks along with Patrick up the stairs. “But don’t think you’re getting out of this one.”

Patrick promises him that he’ll talk to him, and spends the first few minutes walking around, putting his gear away and making sure Mrs. Babbington can eat her fill on Peter’s food. He’s just started rinsing out some cups when Sharpy’s voice comes through the open door: “Ah, that’s why you have all these nerd books lying around.”

Wiping his hands on a checkered towel, he walks back into the living area. Sharpy’s sitting in his brown corduroy chair by the fireplace, rifling through one of the many books that are stacked up on the side table. Patrick slings the dish towel over his shoulder and tugs his socks higher up before sinking down into the chair across from Sharpy.

“So,” he sighs, moving to sit cross-legged. Mrs. Babbington jumps up on the armrest before nestling herself into his lap.

“So,” Sharpy repeats, closing the book and setting it back on the pile.

“Ask away.”

Sharpy lets out a laugh. “Alright. What’s up with the degree? When did you start?”

“About a year ago, I think,” Patrick says, sinking his fingers into Mrs. Babbington’s fur. “I had this strain in my ankle for a few weeks, remember? It sort of made me panic, thinking that after hockey, I was gonna lose skating, too. I spent a lot of time with my feet up during those weeks, and Gerta kept bringing me books every few days. And then, one time, she brought this book from Neil Degrasse Tyson.”

“Death by Black Hole?” Sharpy asks, pointing at the book in Patrick's bookcase.

Patrick nods. “Yeah. And back in high school, I obviously spent most of my time playing hockey and skating. But in school, Physics and Math were my strong suits, consistent As across the board. That book brought it all back up, so I spent most of my weeks reading up on all kinds of topics related to space. And I don’t know, maybe it was the painkillers or something, but on one of those mornings I just woke up and enrolled for the online degree at the U of M.”

“Just like that,” Sharpy says, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah. And now I’ve apparently passed all my first year courses, so I can prepare for my exams of this semester.”

Sharpy scoffs, shaking his head. “You didn’t just pass them, you _aced_ them.”

There’s a warmth crawling up his cheeks and Patrick props his elbow up on the armrest, dropping his chin into his hand. “I guess,” he mutters, looking down at Mrs. Babbington.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Abby went to the U of M. She could’ve helped you out with some stuff. Not that you need it, apparently.”

Patrick smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you guys. I guess I just didn’t want you to think that I was losing focus on skating or planned to move away from here. Skating is still… It’s _skating_ , you know. Nothing compares to that. But…”

“But life goes on,” Sharpy fills in.

Patrick releases a sigh. “Yeah, exactly.”

“And so you feel kinda feel guilty for getting a hobby, something that takes up time away from skating?”

Patrick nods. “Hm-hm. Skating brought me everything, literally. But I’m thirty, my back’s a disaster and my ankles hate me.”

“I get it,” Sharpy nods. “Well, not entirely. I get the feeling. But you’re definitely on a different level when it comes to pushing your body to the limits. In fact, you should talk to Jonny, he’ll definitely get it.”

Patrick must pull a face because Sharpy lets out a laugh. “Oh, come on. Jonny’s nice.”

“ _Hockey’s got a bit more longevity, does it_?” Patrick repeats, keeping his intonation low to copy Jonny’s Canadian accent and monotone voice. “ _Figure skating seems like a far cry from that.”_

Sharpy’s loud laughs startles Mrs. Babbington, who gives him a dark glare. “Okay, so,” Sharpy says, still laughing, “He’s got no tact--”

“None.”

“--but he didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, he basically just implied that any career other than hockey is worthless and why anyone would even venture into skating is completely beyond him.”

Sharpy pulls a grimace and shrugs with one shoulder. “Okay, yeah, not his best moment.”

“He hasn’t apologized, by the way,” Patrick points out, crossing his arms. “Canadians are nice, hah, bullshit.”

“I’m nice,” Sharpy protests.

“Occasionally,” Patrick concedes. “When you’re sleeping, which, in your case, is most of the time.”

“Having eight hours of sleep is normal, getting up at four in the morning isn’t.”

“I’m not having this discussion again.”

“No, you’re much too educated for that now, huh?” Sharpy raps his knuckles on the pile of books.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Anyway, about that. You can tell Abby, but let’s keep it at that, okay? I don’t want Stoneman all over me asking me whether I’ll start teaching Physics once my ankles give up on me entirely.”

“Your ankles are fine, Pat, stop worrying. I promise I’ll only tell Abby but you know how my wife gets when she’s got a piece of gossip no one else knows.”

“I know, I’m just counting on at least a few weeks before Theo’s gonna chirp me about doing my homework. Asshole.”

Sharpy cracks up again, shaking his head fondly. He stretches out his legs and gets up from the chair. “Speaking of my darling wife, I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed that I’m gone yet.”

“She’s probably relieved--hey!” Patrick narrowly avoids the pillow Sharpy sends flying his way.

“Nearly took out a few of those fancy brain cells of yours,” Sharpy says, heading towards the door.

“Try getting some.”

“I intend to.”

“Ew.”

“Love you, Peeksy.”

“Love you, dick.”

\--

He arrives at the rink on Friday morning around ten a.m., waving at the group of grade ten girls who’re standing by the doors of the arena. Locking his bike and propping it up against the wall, he makes his way over.  
“Morning, girls,” he greets them, “As most of you’ve heard, Dayna went home early this morning. She’s probably caught the flu. I’ll take over today’s session.”

He lets them enter the rink, following behind them. Ella turns around to him and says: “Um, Patrick?”

“Yeah?” he looks up from where he’s sorting through the keys, looking for the key to the girls’ locker room.

“The hockey team is on the ice,” she says, pointing over his shoulder.

“What,” Patrick says, pushing the keys back into his pocket and striding further into the building. He hears the sound of skates and sticks on the ice, the shouting of the players ringing through the air.

Rounding the corner, he sees the first team on the ice. Theo and Jonny are near the bench, Theo shouting directions at the defense duo and Jonny scribbling on the small whiteboard he’s holding.

Patrick feels the annoyance morph into anger when he looks at the state of the ice and how there’s no sign of the hockey team being done anytime soon.

“Okay, girls,” he says, taking out the keys from his pocket. “I’m going to sort this out, you go on ahead and get changed.”

Diana takes the keys from him and the girls move towards the locker room, already talking and giggling about Patrick’s impending and inevitable meltdown.

Patrick watches the girls go and then marches around the rink towards the bench.

“Theo!” he calls out, opening the gate and stepping over the ramp.

Theo and Jonny turn their heads, noticing Patrick walking up to them across the ice.

“What’s this?” Patrick demands, once he’s come closer. He gestures around the rink. “Friday’s ten fifteen ‘til twelve fifteen is reserved for Dayna’s class. What are your boys doing on the ice?”

Theo holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t take it out on me, Pat. Jonny here said the ice was free so we pulled the training session forward.” He looks away from Patrick towards the ice, and yells, “Davidson!” before walking off towards one of the defense men.

Patrick turns his focus on Jonny, who’s putting away the whiteboard. He’s wearing his skates and towers at least a foot over Patrick. The zip of his hoodie is pulled up halfway to his chest, showing off his grey t-shirt and bare neck.

“What,” Patrick begins, hands on his hips, “were you thinking? You can’t just fuck up the whole schedule and take the ice whenever you want to. Those girls have a fucking competition next week, they can’t miss a single session. ”

Jonny clears his throat and gives a look around the rink. His eyebrows knit together and he rubs the faint stubble on his jawline with his hand. “I know we’re technically not in school right now, but that kinda language isn’t really--”

“Seriously?” Patrick hisses, stepping closer. “You’re really gonna give the language spiel when you took the ice from me?”

“Look,” Jonny sighs, turning on his skates towards Patrick. Patrick sees his own intensity mirrored in Jonny's eyes.

Jonny pushes his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I saw Dayna leave about an hour ago and heard she was sick. I figured the ice would be empty for two hours before our practice, so I pulled it up. Trust me, I didn’t know you’d take over her class.”

“Asking around doesn’t hurt, Jonny,” Patrick says, looking away from Jonny’s brown eyes and looking around the rink. “So, now what? You gonna get them off the ice?”

“I could, but…”

“But what?” Patrick asks, looking at the side of Jonny’s face. There’s a small, pale scar under his nose, the end of it just barely grazing the plush pink of his upper lip.

Jonny meets his gaze again. “It wouldn’t matter. It’s ten thirty. By the time we’ve cleared the ice and the Zamboni’s gone over it, you’ll have maybe forty-five minutes left on your practice, tops.”

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick mutters, shaking his head. “Guess I’ll just have to leave then, huh? Take the girls back to campus and tell them: ‘Sorry, the hockey team took our ice time and we barely would have the time to finish our warming up, so we should just leave them to it’. That would work out quite nicely for you, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Jonny exclaims, putting a hand up against the glass. “But that’s how it is today. There’s nothing to be done about it anymore.”

“Oh, well, if there’s nothing to be done anymore,” Patrick scoffs sarcastically, turning his back on Jonny and walking away. "Asshole."

\--

He’s still mad about it on Saturday night, when Shattuck plays the Colorado Thunderbirds. Abby demanded that he joined her to watch the game, and with Dayna staying at the Hall to listen to the baby monitor, Patrick didn’t have an excuse not to go.

Sharpy had a game this afternoon, so he’s going with them and driving them to the rink through the rain. Patrick’s in the back seat, chatting with Abby about his team’s upcoming competition and the paper he’s writing on zodiacal light. He coos at the pictures Abby shows him of Maddie and Sadie last weekend, wearing their Halloween costumes at their grandparents’ house.

When they get to the rink, a decent amount of the seats are already taken. Patrick winds his scarf tighter around his neck, popping the color of his coat. He hums along to the song playing over the speakers as he follows Sharpy and Abby. Their seats are three rows up, behind the bench.

He sinks down in his seat next to Abby and grins when she takes out a blanket from her bag, spreading it over both of their laps.

Sharpy notices and makes an indignant sound, “How come Peeks gets half of the blanket?”

“Because he doesn’t want to be here,” Abby replies, winking at Patrick.

Sharpy huffs, shaking his head. “This is a great game, first one that Jonny’s coaching alone. History is being made here.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and sinks his face deeper into his scarf. He talks with Abby and a few other teachers that have braced the cold of the rink. When the warm-ups begin, he sees Jonny come out onto the ice. He’s wearing a black and burgundy tracksuit, in the colours of Shattuck. He’s not wearing his skates this time, but Patrick still notices how tall he is. And fine, yes, objectively speaking, Jonathan Toews is one of the hottest guys Patrick has ever seen. He’s got a sharp jawline and healthy, tanned skin. Patrick’s seen him walking around, the fabric of his t-shirts and sweaters stretching across his shoulders and showing off his strong arms. Not to mention the way his ass looks in whatever he decides to wear.

“You know you can’t actually kill him with your eyes, right?” Abby whispers, leaning in and following Patrick’s line of sight.

Patrick averts his eyes and gives her a smile. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”

“Doesn’t hurt to look at him either,” she says, giving him a look.

“Is there something I should tell Sharpy?” Patrick laughs.

“No,” Abby laughs. “I’m just saying, he’s good looking. Anyone can see that.”

“Too bad he’s got a shitty personality,” Patrick mutters, eyes still on Jonny as he moves across the ice, talking to his players.

“He doesn’t have a shitty personality, Pat. He’s just a little...blunt. Trust me, Sharpy and I have known him for, like, six years now. Do you really think we’d be friends with him if he’s truly that bad?”

“No,” Patrick concedes. “Fine, so he’s not an asshole to most people. Guess I’m just special then? Or does he have something against figure skating that he just can’t look past?”

“I don’t know,” Abby shrugs, giving him a sincere look. “He just gets a bit weird around you. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

Patrick wants to reply but what he was going to say gets drowned out by Pete’s voice coming through the speakers, announcing the start of the the first period.

As the first period begins, Patrick is completely transfixed. Regardless of the school’s policy regarding hockey or the hockey staff, the sport is still his passion, it’s lodged into his heart and lungs. He shouts at the ref, he cheers when Davidson scores, and beams at Abby when Shattuck is up by three after the first period.

During the second period, though,with the win pretty much secure, Patrick lets his eyes drift towards the bench. Jonny’s standing behind the team, occasionally pacing along the length of the bench. Patrick is fascinated by the way Jonny moves, and how he holds himself during the game. He hears Jonny shout an encouragement or a suggestion across the ice every once in a while, and watches him talk calmly and clearly to the players who’re on the bench waiting for their shift. Jonny clearly knows what he’s doing, oozing with confidence that’s been built up over the years. Patrick leans forward and props his chin on his hand, wetting his lower lip with his tongue as he continues watching both the game and the way Jonny responds to it. When Shattuck scores again, he sees Jonny pump his fist and laugh, leaning forward to give the player who scored a firm clap on the shoulder when he comes in from his shift. The giddiness on Jonny’s face takes Patrick slightly aback, seeing this range of emotion from Jonny for the first time. When the second period is over, Patrick’s eyes are still on Jonny as he watches him herd his players towards the locker room. Jonny looks up, letting his eyes flit across the people in the stands and their gazes meet. Patrick quickly averts his eyes back to the ice and swallows hard. When he looks back down again, Jonny’s already disappeared into the locker room.

The third period is relatively uneventful, with Shattuck going up four goals to none. Patrick leans in closer to Abby who’s holding a bucket of cotton candy, sharing it with the people sitting around them. He takes a handful and lets the sugar fizzle on his tongue, keeping one eye on the play while he talks to Sharpy. They share a bottle of Gatorade and he gulps down a few sips, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. When the buzzer sounds, signalling the end of the third period, he gets up to clap. Pete’s voice comes through the speakers, wrapping up his broadcast. He sees Jonny shake hands with the Thunderbirds’ coach before getting on the ice, walking over to the refs and shaking their hands, too, and taking his time to talk to them.

“You coming?”

He looks up and sees Sharpy and Abby already standing by the stairs, waiting for him.

“Oh, yeah,” he quickly gets up from his seat, tucking the ends of his scarf into his coat. He ignores his friends’ knowing grins and follows them out of the rink.

\--

Back at the residence hall, they join some of the other staff in the communal living room near the kitchen. Patrick is leaning sideways against the armrest of the lumpy but comfortable couch, feet tucked between the cushions and a blanket draped over his lap. He’s in the middle of discussing the gegenschein phenomenon with Mark, the physics teacher of grades eleven and twelve, when the door towards the garden suddenly opens.

Jonny and Peter walk in, both of them carrying an armful of logs for the fireplace. Patrick watches Jonny crouch down by the fireplace, stacking the logs into the hearth. Jonny reaches for some firelighters and puts them in between the logs, adding some smaller sticks and paper. When he lights the fire, everyone lets out a pleased sigh and move their chairs closer to the fireplace. The conversation starts up again, blending with the soft music playing from the speakers on the mantelpiece.

Jonny warms his hands in front of the fire before standing up, looking around. He walks over to Patrick and nods at the vacant half of the couch. “That spot free?”

Patrick nods, pulling his feet out from between the cushions and drawing his legs up under the blanket. “Good game,” he says, staring into the fire.

“Thanks,” Jonny says, letting out a content sigh as he sinks into the couch. “The boys played well. Must’ve been the extra practice yesterday.”

Patrick snaps his head back up, meeting Jonny’s eyes. “Okay, now listen here, you--” But then he sees the twinkle in Jonny’s eyes, illuminated by the fire that’s reflecting in them. Jonny’s teasing him. “Oh. Very funny.”

A smile breaks through on Jonny’s lips and he looks at his hands when he says, “I’m sorry, though.”

“For?” Patrick probes, not breaking the eye contact.

“For not communicating about the ice time yesterday.”

“And?”

Jonny shakes his head slightly, “And?”

“Is there anything else you want to apologize for, say, I don’t know, something you said?”

When Jonny actually takes his time to consider it, Patrick lets out a sigh. “That whole thing you said about how tragic it is that I had to give up hockey and only ended up with something as mediocre as figure skating?”

“I never said that,” Jonny protests, also shifting sideways on the couch to face Patrick. He takes the hem of Patrick’s blanket and turns it over between his long fingers, letting the pads of his fingers stroke across the fabric in a similar pattern.

“Okay,” Patrick concedes, “Maybe not in those exact words, but that’s basically what you meant.”

Jonny is looking down at where he’s fiddling with the blanket and Patrick sees the way his eyelashes fan out over his cheeks.

“Alright,” Jonny says, meeting Patrick’s eyes. “It was a shitty thing to say. I felt bad for you, that your hockey career ended so early, but I know I shouldn’t have said it like that.” He scratches the side of his jaw, giving Pat a small smile. “Sharpy got mad at me, too, a few times. Told me I was an asshole and to watch you skate if I ever thought of saying that stuff again.”

Patrick feels his cheeks getting warm and softly bites down on the inside of his cheek. “Did you?”

“Watch you skate?”

Patrick nods.

“Yeah,” Jonny nods, and he looks back down at his hands. “I saw you sometimes, after practice. You’re really good. Abby forced me to watch some of your old performances, too. Watching those, I guess I realized that you didn’t lose hockey. Hockey lost you, because you’re great on the ice no matter which sport you do. So.”

“So,” Patrick repeats, throat a little dry.

“I’m sorry, for being an arrogant asshole.”

“Apology accepted. And besides, it’s not really your fault,” Patrick says, a smile playing around his lips. “You’re part of this school’s hockey coaching staff after all, being an asshole is kind of a requirement.”

Jonny laughs, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders as he leans back into the couch. “I’ll tell you what, you proved me wrong about figure skating, now I’ll prove you wrong about hockey coaches.”

Patrick shrugs, “You’ll have to find a way to assassinate Theo, but sure, knock yourself out.”

\--

December comes around in a whirlwind of skating competitions, paper deadlines, and snowstorms. Patrick gets the flu early on in the month, and spends a week in bed with Mrs. Babbington, drinking tea and being pampered by Abby and Sharpy. There are balled-up tissues strewn around his room, and he only gets up to fill up his glass and go to the bathroom. He misses a few training sessions but Dayna is able to take over most of them, so he doesn’t feel too guilty about that.

He begins feeling better by Friday, and he joins Dayna on his last training session of the week to ensure his students that he’s not dead. On Saturday he’s helping Jonny and Don with setting up the Christmas trees around the various halls on campus. Jonny doesn’t let him do much other than give directions on where the trees should go and yell at them when they’re about to drive a tree into a wall. Four brave baubles are sacrificed in the process of adorning the Christmas trees and Jonny stands next to him as he gives them a somber farewell before dumping them into the garbage can.

They get into an argument in the library about the trinkets that make noise and whether they should go in the tree or not, but Gerta interupts them with a cup of hot chocolate before it gets out of hand. That evening, Jonny sits next to them in the dining hall as they eat dinner, their knees knocking together under the table from time to time. Sharpy throws a bread roll at his face when he’s distracted watching Jonny play with Sadie, flying a spoon with orange goop at her mouth while making airplane noises. Patrick throws it back and gets a disapproving look from Jonny, to which he sputters: “He started it!”

He sees a lot more of Jonny these days, now that he’s not actively avoiding him or disliking him anymore. The more he gets to know him, the more he appreciates Jonny’s bluntness, his dry sense of humor and his strong work ethic. And even though Jonny knows nothing about astrophysics, he lets Patrick ramble about space dust for way too long and even listens, asking questions that set Patrick off again on another tangent. They see each other at the rink a lot, as Patrick tends to linger around after his training sessions have ended. He even helps Jonny with dragging the goals onto the ice and sets out drills from time to time. When they’re both in the locker room, they tend to chirp each other, Patrick often targeting Jonny’s furiously red face and Jonny making remarks on Patrick’s leggings.

In the evenings, they either watch whatever’s on TV in the common living room or Patrick goes by Jonny’s apartment and they play Xbox until the clock strikes twelve. It’s come to the point where Sharpy isn’t even surprised anymore at the amount of time they spend together. In fact, when he wants to know where Jonny is, he usually ends up asking Patrick first.

\--

On Monday evening, Patrick is on his way back from his last training session of the day. It’s been raining since noon, and he keeps his head ducked low under the hood of his jacket. He crosses the slippery and muddy lawn to reach the residence hall sooner, and he hurries up the steps towards the door.

“God,” he sighs, shrugging out of his wet coat and toeing off his muddy shoes. He leaves his coat and shoes on a rack in the foyer to dry and pads into the large hallway on his socks. Don is already gone, the computer screen on the reception desk turned off.

“Hey,” he hears behind him, and he turns around.

Jonny is walking down the hallway, carrying Mrs. Babbington in his arms. He looks unfairly handsome with his messy hair, wearing his sweats and dark grey Blackhawks hoodie. Mrs. Babbington is chewing on one of the strings and gives Patrick a soft _mrrp_.

“Nasty outside, huh?” Jonny says, giving Patrick a once-over.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, trading his fingers through the wet strands of his hair. He feels like a mess, standing next to Jonny.

His breathing lodges in his throat when Jonny comes in closer, reaching up a hand to his face. For a second, he thinks Jonny is going to kiss him. But Jonny swipes his thumb across Patrick’s cheekbone, eyes focused on the side of Patrick’s face.

“What’ve you been up to?” he asks, an amused glint in his eyes. He steps out of Patrick’s space and rubs the brown dirt from the pad of his thumb.

“Oh,” Patrick lets out a breathy laugh, the tight constriction in his chest releasing. “I took a shortcut across the lawn. It was kinda muddy from the rain.”

Jonny gives him a grin and hitches Mrs. Babbington up a little higher on his arm. Patrick gives her a scratch underneath her chin.

“What’ve you guys been up to?” he asks.

Jonny shrugs. “Not much, she’s been hanging around while I did an interview with the Tribune.”

“The Chicago Tribune?”

“Yeah,” Jonny nods. “About my life post-retirement, what’s it like being back at Shattuck, stuff like that.”

“Well, you know,” Patrick says, imitating Jonny’s monotone voice. “I’m stuck in a rink with a bunch of sixteen-year-olds for the entire day and there’s this cat constantly following me around and my hairline is hanging on for dear life. Other than that, life’s great.”

Jonny gives him an indignant look and playfully shoves him against his shoulder. “As if your hairline is doing a better job.”

Patrick laughs, the feeling of it warming his insides. “I never said that.”

“Oh, alright,” Jonny rolls his eyes. He watches Patrick yawn and smiles. “Off to bed?”

“Not yet,” Patrick sighs, pouting a little. “I’ve got to shower, and comb Mrs. Babbington, and I’ve got an essay proposal due at midnight. Gotta check it before I hand it in.”

“I could help out?” Jonny offers. “You could shower and I could read over your paper thing, and comb Mrs. Babbington.”

“You sure? She can get nasty sometimes.”

“I don’t believe that.” Jonny kisses her fluffy head and grins when she purrs at him.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Patrick promises him.

He’s been standing under the spray of the shower for ten minutes, soaping up his hair and chest, when he hears a crash. It’s followed by a loud meow and a curse from Jonny. He grins, water streaming over his face.

When he gets out of the bathroom a few minutes later, curls still damp, Jonny’s in the chair by the unlit fireplace, peering at his laptop screen. Mrs. Babbington is on the windowsill, and while her ears are pulled back in annoyance, her fur looks smooth.

“Did you survive?”

Jonny looks up from the screen and holds up his hand, showing off the four angry red welts across the back of his hand. Patrick winces and walks over to his little kitchenette, taking out his first aid box from one of the cabinets.

He walks over to Jonny and uses his foot to push Jonny’s feet off of the footstool. Ignoring Jonny’s annoyed huff, he sits down on the knitted cushion of the stool and grabs Jonny’s hand. His palm is warm and his long fingers curl around Patrick’s hand.

“It’s fine.”

“Just keep reading,” Patrick orders. And even though his eyes are fixed on Jonny’s hand, he still knows Jonny’s rolling his eyes.

“Your proposal is fine, too, as far as I can tell. Had to use the dictionary for over half of the words so I’m pretty sure you’re good.”

Patrick snorts, taking out a cotton ball and putting some disinfectant on it. He rubs it across the skin on Jonny’s hand, grinning when Jonny hisses at the sting. Before Jonny can protest, he’s stuck a Hello Kitty band-aid to his hand.

“There you go,” he says, grabbing the laptop from the armrest. While Jonny inspects his band-aid, Patrick turns in his policy proposal and closes the screen.

When he drags his eyes back up, Jonny’s looking at him, his eyelids drooping down a little as well. He stands up and grabs Jonny’s hand, pulling him up from the chair.

“Off to bed with you as well,” he says, “Or Sharpy will be up earlier tomorrow morning than you.”

Jonny stretches out his arms over his head, groaning softly. “Impossible,” he says. He walks over to Mrs. Babbington, who has forgiven him, as she happily accepts his pets and soft words.

“Goodnight, Peeks,” he says, lingering by the door and giving Patrick a smile.

Patrick rolls his eyes at the nickname he’s adopted from Sharpy. “Goodnight, Jonny. Don’t hog my ice tomorrow.”

“No promises,” Jonny says, closing the door behind him.

Patrick’s still smiling to himself as he listens to Jonny’s footsteps fade away.

\--

Patrick spends the entire week pouring over his final assignments, going to bed past midnight most of the days. He’s seen every single part of the library by now, and he’s sick of it. Mrs. Babbington doesn’t go with him anymore, even, spending most of her time curled up under one of the many Christmas trees or hanging around wherever Jonny happens to be. On Friday evening, Patrick hands in his very last assignment and he refrains from flinging his laptop at the wall.

He doesn’t get to sleep in on Saturday to celebrate it, as he’s got a skating competition in Minneapolis with his grade eleven skaters. By eight a.m. he’s outside, inhaling the scent of the morning. The girls are trudging up to the minivan that’s parked by the courtyard, and Patrick gets on last, taking a seat near the front.

It’s a short drive, barely an hour, and Patrick spends most of it talking to Brian, their regular driver. They’re arriving in Minneapolis, and are in the middle of discussing the bad season the Blackhawks are having, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 **Where are you?** it says, the screen alight.

Patrick feels a smile tugging on his mouth, which has become a regular occurrence whenever Jonny texts him. He replies with **omw to mini apple, competition until 5pm**

He waits for a bit, tapping the back of his phone on his thigh. It buzzes again. **Sucks, sharpy wanted to take us out for lunch. Got a game tonight. You coming?**

Patrick purses his lips, taking out the rink schedule. The game starts at six, which would make it very tight. **i could make second period probably. try not to score three in first period to keep it interesting**

He’s getting off the bus, feeling the cold wind bite at his cheeks when Jonny replies, **better be on time then.** He rolls his eyes and puts his phone away.

\--

They get out of Minneapolis with two trophies, one gold and one silver, and Patrick is still vibrating with excitement when he gets to the rink that night. He’s missed the first period, as he expected to, but the first intermission is still going on when he pushes through the entrance doors.

There’s quite a large crowd on the stands tonight, and he spends a while trying to look for Abby. He’s startled by a warm arm slinging across his shoulder, hooking around his neck.

“Hey,” Jonny says, releasing him and giving Patrick a bright smile. “Just heard you guys got two trophies today. Congrats.”

Patrick smiles, feels his cheeks dimpling. “Thanks, the girls did great. It’s just, so cool to see how fast they improve. Makes it all worth it, you know.”

“I do,” Jonny says, reaching out and giving Patrick a quick touch on his elbow. “Glad you’re here.”

“Uh, yeah,” he feels his cheeks stain pink, “Me, too. Did you manage to keep your boys contained?”

Jonny shrugs, nodding at the scoreboard. “Two goals up, not too bad, right?”

“Wow, a great show of restraint,” Patrick says, grinning when Jonny gives him an exasperated look.

“I’ll tell you what. Next time I’ll tell them to go three goals down in the first period, so that when your slow ass finally shows up, we can do a comeback.”

“You’d never,” Patrick crows, “You’d die over the stress that’d give you.”

Jonny smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “True.”

The buzzer sounds and Patrick looks up, realizing that he hadn’t noticed the intermission coming to an end. “That’s you,” he says, clapping Jonny’s shoulder.

“That’s me,” Jonny nods. “See you after?”

“Of course,” Patrick says, and then walks over to where Abby’s sitting. Once he’s taken his seat, he watches Jonny take his place behind the bench. Jonny turns around and scans his eyes over the crowd. Patrick sees his eyes land on him and grins when Jonny gives a quick wave. He waves back before tucking his hand back in the pocket of his jacket.

“Cute,” Abby says.

“What?”

“You two,” Abby nods towards Jonny. “I mean, at the beginning of the year Sharpy said that you’d probably get along, but then you ended up hating each other for a solid two months. It’s nice to see you guys turned it around.”

“Yeah, well, turns out Jonny is even more of a dick once you get to know him, I just had to get used to it,” Patrick grins, rubbing the side of his jaw with his cold fingers.

“Did you talk to him yet?”

“About what?”

“Um, about the giant crush you’re having?”

Patrick whips his head towards his friend, pretty sure his eyes are blown wide. “What?”

“So you do have a crush,” Abby grins, bumping into him with her shoulder.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “He’s tall, built, funny, and smart. Pretty sure everyone on the staff has a crush on him. Even Sharpy.”

Abby laughs, even snorting a little, which makes both of them laugh even harder. “Okay, point,” Abby gets out. “But seriously. Do you like him?”

Patrick shrugs. “I guess. But what about it? Even if he swings both ways, the NHL is repressed and homophobic enough to make anyone push that down and act like it’s not there. I just try not to think about him that way. It’d just fuck everything up.”

“Hm,” Abby replies, staying silent for a bit.

Patrick thinks she’s let it go, as they spend the rest of the game talking about Maddie and Sadie, the upcoming Christmas, and yelling at the ice. But when the game is over, and Jonny’s just gestured at Patrick to wait up for him, Abby turns towards him again.

“Try,” she says.

“What?”

“Just… try thinking about Jonny _that_ way. Not necessarily for him, but for you. Allow yourself to think like that.”

Patrick swallows. “Why?”

“Because we’ve been friends for more than ten years, Pat. And even though you got out of all that a long time ago, you’re still carrying around left-over pieces of that repression, too,” Abby says, resting a hand on his arm. “You like Jonny, right?”

Patrick takes a breath, “Yeah,” he admits. “I like him.”

“Then _let yourself._ You haven’t had a serious boyfriend since Dan, and that was what, three years ago? Whether it’s hockey or skating, you don’t owe your life to the ice.”

Patrick stays silent, his eyes fixed somewhere on the empty ice. There’s a couple emotions going through him, but they’re racing too fast for him to focus on one. Abby nudges him, and hooks her arm in his as they walk down the steps.

“Just try, okay?”

He breathes in and nods. “I will.”

\--

And he does try. He allows himself to feel the emotions, instead of dragging up the walls whenever they threaten to come near. It’s, a lot. It’s a lot to suddenly feel a rush of warmth through his belly when Jonny’s leaning in to wrap his arm around Patrick’s neck. To break out into a smile when Jonny’s pissy and annoyed at breakfast, not having had his coffee yet. To feel himself _want_ whenever Jonny’s in his apartment, playing around with Mrs. Babbington. The switch from disliking Jonny to being friends with him was so easy for him, just as it eventually becomes easy to think about Jonny in a different way.

He’s always known he’s had a thing for taller guys, but nothing compares to the heat that floods his veins whenever Jonny uses his size, pushing Patrick around to where he wants him, stepping in close so that Patrick has to look up to meet his eyes. There are moments when he thinks that Jonny is doing it on purpose, that he gets something out of it, too. Jonny doesn’t seem to notice that Patrick is looking at him in a different way. If anything, he spends more time with him, asking Patrick along to trips into Faribault, spending more evenings together, playing video games or just simply doing separate things, together.

Sharpy’s been giving him looks over dinner lately, but he thinks that Abby’s instilled the fear of God into him because other than some teasing looks and smiles, he doesn’t mention the fact that Patrick and Jonny have basically become inseparable.

Having all the feelings, as Patrick has come to call it, also brings along a lot of frustration. And not just the sexual frustration, where he just wants Jonny to push him up against a wall already and mess him up good. There’s also the frustration that he doesn’t know where Jonny’s at. As far as Patrick knows, he isn’t dating anyone, and he’s also not told Patrick anything that would indicate he’s also into guys. It leaves Patrick jittery, because his own feelings aren’t going away and he’s pretty sure they’re gonna come spilling out sometime soon. He rants about it to Abby, but all she’s been saying lately is the cryptic words of, “It’ll all work out.”

Patrick doesn’t think it will. His dick doesn’t think so, either. Because that’s maybe his biggest issue right now, Jonny turning him on. So fucking much.

It’s the Friday before Christmas, the final day of the semester. All the students are going back home for the two-week break over Christmas and New Year. Patrick is part of the welcoming committee for the parents, which means he’s in the grand hallway of St. Mary’s Hall for the entire morning. He’s greeting the parents, signing off the students that are leaving, and making sure there’s no one pushing over the enormous Christmas tree in the middle of the hallway. It was a whole thing last year.

But then Peter, who’s on suitcase-carrying duty comes up to him, his face twisted up in pain.

“Pulled a muscle?” Patrick asks.

“Think so,” Peter sighs, rotating his arm. “I’m not the youngest anymore.”

Patrick grins. “Here,” he hands his list and pen over to Peter. “I’ll take over from you.”

Peter gives him a relieved smile and points to where Jonny’s standing. “He’s in charge.”

“When isn’t he?” Patrick retorts, but he’s already smiling.

Jonny looks up from his own list when Patrick comes over. “Hey, everything alright?”

“Yeah, but Pete pulled a muscle in his shoulder,” Patrick gestures over to where Peter is signing off a student. “So I’ll take over.”

“Oh, good,” Jonny says, putting his list down on one of the steps. “Second floor, west wing. We got to have all the luggage down in fifteen minutes. Let’s go.”

“Yes, captain,” Patrick says, and he nearly trips on a step at the look Jonny sends him. It’s not angry or anything, just intense, with his eyes dark and his jaw set.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly, thinking that it must’ve triggered something from Jonny’s NHL days.

“Don’t be,” Jonny says, his voice a little lower than normal. He clears his throat and walks up the stairs a little faster. Patrick’s eyes fall automatically on Jonny’s ass in front of him, and he swallows hard. He wonders if he shouldn’t have just stayed on welcoming duty.

He spends the rest of the morning in absolute torture, having to watch Jonny’s muscles bunch and flex as he picks up suitcases and takes them downstairs. Jonny’s wearing a pair of sweatpants that are tight around his ass. He can’t take his eyes off of Jonny when he bends down to pick up a suitcase. He feels his cheeks go warm and wills his brain to stay focused. They work themselves up in quite a sweat, and Patrick almost drops a suitcase because he’s staring at the flushed skin of Jonny’s neck.

“You okay?” Jonny asks, eyebrows raised.

Patrick balances the suitcase on his arms and nods, a flush staining his cheeks. “Fine.”

He sees the way Jonny’s shirt stretches across the expanse of his shoulders and lets out a long-suffering sigh that Jonny doesn’t hear. If his inevitable tumble down the stairs isn’t going to kill him, at least his sexual frustration will be there to finish off the job.

\--

On the morning before Christmas, he wakes up from the bright sunlight peeking through the curtains. Keeping his eyes closed, he stretches out his limbs. A groan spills from his lips when he feels a joint in his leg crack and he relaxes back into the mattress. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s been able to sleep in, and a quick look at his phone tells him it’s ten a.m.

He rolls over onto his stomach, grinding his hard on into the mattress. He moans softly into the fabric of his pillow, and slides his hands up to hold onto his headboard. The head of his cock is poking out of the waistband of his briefs and he feels heat break out over his skin when he pumps his hips, rubbing it back and forth against the sheets.

He lifts his head up from his pillow, the fabric damp where he’d been panting on it, and scrambles around for his nightstand. His hand slaps against the wood of the drawer and he pulls it open, taking out a half-empty bottle of lube. Wetting his lower lip with his tongue, he clicks the cap open spills some onto his fingers. He’s messy about it, some of the lube dripping down onto his sheets.

His cock sends a jerk of pleasure through his upper body when he rolls back over onto his stomach. Moving his knees, he gets them under him and spreads his legs. With his other hand, he tugs his briefs down. His fingers are cold when he lightly circles his hole, and it makes his toes curl in anticipation.

The lube slowly warms up and he bites down on his lower lip as he pushes his ring finger past the rim. It’s a tight fit since it’s been a while he took the time for this. But right now, he craves it. He moves his finger deeper, groaning when it’s all the way inside until his knuckle. His impatience quickly takes over and he pushes the pad of his middle finger against the furled skin of his hole. The slickness eases his way as he begins to push a second finger in, biting down hard on his lower lip when the first knuckle slides up against his ring finger.

“Fuck,” he mutters softly, the fabric of his pillow wet from his breaths. He moves his fingers around, crooking them a little. The curve of his back arches when he hits his prostate, pressing the pads of his fingers against it. He groans and keeps the pressure steady, feeling the pleasure spread through his limbs.

His eyes are pressed closed tightly, and he thinks of Jonny. Jonny, holding himself up above Patrick, his biceps tensed up as he’d slowly let his cock sink into Patrick’s hole. The stretch would be intense after such a long time, but Jonny would be pushy about it, making Patrick’s body give him the space to push all the way inside.

Patrick lets out a groan, his body giving a shudder as he’s imagining it. He’d let Jonny do whatever he wants, giving him control. God, he’s thought about it a few times, how it’d be to just let Jonny decide. To let Jonny push and shove him around, maneuvering him into another position and just taking it, taking Jonny’s cock inside so easily. He remembers the way Jonny looked at him a few days ago, when Patrick called him captain. He wonders if Jonny would get that dark, intense look during sex, too.

The pressure in his stomach is increasing and he feels his balls tightening. A whine escapes his lips when he crooks his fingers again, pushing them deep into his hole with a slow rhythm. His cock is rubbing against the mattress, the head purple and leaking pre-cum on his sheets.

He wonders if Jonny would talk to him while he fucked into him. He pushes his forehead back into his pillow, breathing harshly through his nose. Jonny’s always so quick with his praise, shouting encouragements across the ice. He screws his eyes shut, imagining Jonny praising him, telling him how tight he is and how good he feels around Jonny’s cock. What a slut he is for it, always so easy to spread his legs for him.

“Ngh, fuck,” Patrick moans, and he can’t bear the pressure anymore. He takes his fingers out of his hole and flips over onto his back, grasping his cock with his slick hand. His feet are braced on the bed as he fucks up into his fist, the rush in his ears drowning out all the sounds except for the sounds of his hard breathing and slapping skin.

He feels his orgasm come, his feet numb and his balls drawn up tight against his body. A moan passes his lips when he comes, ropes of come shooting up from his cock, covering his abs and chest. A drop hits his chin and Patrick licks it up with his tongue, groaning at the salty taste.

His limbs protest when he relaxes onto the bed, his chest rapidly expanding and sinking. The quick beats of his heart fill his ears and he sighs loudly, dropping a hand to his sweaty forehead. He uses his other hand to drag his comforter up over his body.

His phone is on the nightstand and he grabs it, trying to relax by going through his emails, and distracting himself from the realization of how royally fucked up he is over Jonny.

\--

Patrick spends the rest of the day in the kitchen with Peter, Abby, and Jack, preparing for the Christmas Eve dinner. He loves Christmases at Shattuck, the closeness with his colleagues and friends, the decorated hallways and classrooms, the Christmas songs softly playing over the speakers. The kitchen is warm, all six burners turned up to cook the greens and potatoes necessary for tonight’s dinner. Patrick feels his cheeks going rosy as time passes, his ugly Christmas sweater ticking his skin.

It’s almost dinner time and he’s in the middle of mashing a batch of potatoes, feeling the heat at the back of his neck. Stepping away from the counter, he pushes his arms back to tug at the collar of his sweater. He pulls the sweater over his head, the shirt underneath riding up.

“Oh, dinner and show,” he hears from the doorway of the kitchen.

He tugs his shirt back down and turns, seeing Sharpy grinning at him, his blue eyes squinting in delight. Jonny’s next to him, leaning against the doorway and smirking. Patrick hates how good that looks on him and feels his cheeks go hotter. 

“No access to anyone who’s not cooking,” he says, picking up his potato masher and brandishing it at them. “Especially not to people who are more likely to steal the food than to help making it.”

Jonny’s eyes widen innocently when Patrick gives him a pointed look. “I never do that.”

“Sure,” Patrick snorts, turning around and going back to his mashing. “Why don’t you two go make yourselves useful?”

“We are being useful, we’re admiring your triceps. Well, at least one of us is,” and with those words, Sharpy leaves the kitchen with a stack of plates.

Patrick meets Jonny’s eyes, who gives him a smile and then looks away to open a drawer of pens and crayons. “Where do they keep the cutlery?”

“Oh, um,” Patrick twists his upper body, pointing to a drawer next to him “This one. There’s about twenty of us, I think.” He slams his masher down a little too hard when he feels Jonny pass by him, a hand on his hip. Chunks of potato go flying up, a piece going into his eye. “Motherfucker,” he curses, bringing a hand up to his eye to wipe at his eyeball. He hears Jonny cracking up nearby.“Don’t laugh,” he yells, voice skipping.

“Okay, okay, lemme take a look.” Jonny’s a few inches away from him when Patrick opens his eyes again, a few tears spilling down his left cheek.

“Can you see anything?”

Jonny’s clearly trying to stop himself from laughing, but he manages to school his expression and nods. “Yep, stay still.”

His other eye is starting to water too and he feels the skin twitch when Jonny brings his hand up, the pad of his index finger slowly rubbing across the side of Patrick’s eye and along his tear duct. Patrick blinks rapidly, his lashes hitting Jonny’s finger a few times before Jonny pulls it back and takes another look.

“All gone, I think,” he says, stepping back and giving Patrick a grin. “Apart from what’s in your hair.”

Patrick makes a show of aiming a knee at Jonny’s crotch, but Jonny just laughs and deflects it easily. He watches Jonny take out a bunch of knives and spoons, and that just makes him look at Jonny’s large hands and long fingers, bringing back memories of that morning.

“I’m, uh, just gonna comb out my hair,” he says, pointing inanely at the door.

He hurries out of the kitchen before his brain betrays him even more with thoughts about Jonny’s hands and what they could do to him.

After spending a few minutes taking potato chunks out of his hair and combing through it, he heads back downstairs. Mrs. Babbington walks a few steps in front of him, her tail raised in the air.

“Yeah, you smell something good, huh?” Patrick tells her, opening the door of the dining room for her. He goes inside himself, closing the door behind him.

Someone’s dimmed the overhead lights and candles are burning on the long table. Dayna and Don have laid the table with dark red covers, and white, cloth napkins. A Christmas arrangement with pine twigs and baubles is in the middle of the table.

Patrick sees Sharpy waving at him and he goes over, sliding onto the empty chair next to him. Jonny’s sitting across from him, a little more to the left, and he’s talking with Gerta, who’s sitting next to him.

“Okay,” Abby says, setting down the last dishes on the table and sitting down. “Everything’s set, everyone’s here. Let’s say grace.”

Patrick opens his eyes halfway through the prayer and sees Jonny eyeing the grilled bell peppers. Jonny must feel his eyes on him because meets Patrick’s gaze, giving him a guilty look.

When the prayer is over, Patrick announces: “I think Jonny would like the bell peppers, Abs.”

Jonny doesn’t even take a second to respond to his teasing, and makes grabby hands when Abby holds out the bowl of bell peppers.

\--

They arrive as a group to the chapel that evening, more tipsy than they should be. Peter had made his signature mulled wine and Patrick personally saw to it that none of it went to waste. Everyone helped, though, so they’re all giggling as they slide into the box pews.

“Ugh,” Patrick groans, stretching his shoulders against the straight back of the pews. He knows he’s a sleepy drunk, and he wonders if he’ll make it through the service awake. Right now, he’s pretty sure the benches will do their part in keeping him awake. “My spine hates me,” he complains.

Jonny is a warm line against his side, resting his head against the edge of the bench in front of him. “The psychological trauma that these seats caused is coming back to me.”

Patrick hums in sympathy, wiggling around a bit to get comfy. Jonny stops him with a hand on his thigh. “No moving, you get two afternoons detention for that. Trust me, I know.”

The warmth of Jonny’s palm seeps through the fabric of his jeans and Patrick feels his throat go dry.

Fortunately, that’s when the last people enter the chapel and the reverend makes his way up to the pulpit. The organ begins to drone the first notes of _Silent Night_ and Patrick feels like an old man as he gets up from the bench, his back already stiff. Jonny’s holding up the Psalter for them both, his voice deep and melodic as he sings along. He restrains himself from listing sideways and leaning his head on Jonny’s shoulder, because he’s ready to drift off to the sound of Jonny’s voice.

The sermon is about the first chapter of Luke, naturally, and Patrick is counting the wooden planks on the ceiling of the church. He begins on the left, his head shifting to the side as he gets to the right side of the ceiling. He sees the smile on Jonny’s face from the corners of his eyes as he finishes counting.

“And?” Jonny whispers.

“One hundred and sixty-eight,” Patrick mutters, eyes fixed on the reverend.

“Wrong.”

“Hm?”

“It’s one hundred and seventy-one,” Jonny whispers.

Patrick ducks his head, smiling at his knees. He feels Jonny pushing his thigh a little firmer against his.

The service ends with _Angels we have heard on high_ and Patrick shuffles out of the pew behind Jonny. Maddie is sleeping on Sharpy’s shoulder, the deer antlers on her hair band listing to the side. Patrick slides them back up on her head, stroking a knuckle across her rosy cheek.

“You didn’t give her any of the mulled wine, did you?” Jonny says, walking over with their coats.

“Yeah, gave her my cup,” Sharpy deadpans, looking at the coats Jonny’s holding. “Gee, Tazer, so nice of you to grab mine, too. Oh, wait, you didn’t.”

“You can get your own." Jonny hands Patrick's coat to him. 

“Why can’t I?” Patrick asks, tugging his coat on and winding his scarf around his neck.

“Because you can’t reach.”

“Oh, fu---” Jonny gives him a shake of the head, “--dge you,” Patrick finishes. He turns around and shakes the hand of the reverend, wishing him a blessed Christmas.

The world outside is covered in white, the snow coming down steadily. Patrick gingerly makes his way down the steps, the snow crunching under his feet. He turns around to wait for the rest of the group, and they walk back to the campus together. The hood of his coat flies off whenever he tries to pull it over his head, so he leaves it, and feels the snowflakes clinging to his hair. Jonny’s walking next to him, eyes on the ground where he’s disturbing the flat sheet of snow with his footsteps.

Patrick hears a whoop behind him, and moves to turn around. Jonny ducks down, and he takes too long to register what he’s doing when he receives a facefull of snow. He hears Sharpy and Maddie cackle as he wipes the snow from his face.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” he yells, leaning down to make his own snowball but Jonny was apparently ahead of him, putting a perfectly round snowball in his hands.

Patrick aims and throws but Sharpy manages to dodge it, and the snowball hits the side of his sleeve.

“Weak,” Jonny snorts next to him, eyes going wide when Patrick turns on him. “Hey, now…”

Patrick bends down and hastily gathers some snow together, throwing it at Jonny. He can barely register Jonny getting hit in the chest when he has to duck and turn himself. The snowball sails past him, hitting Don on his shoes.

Before he knows it, there’s about twelve people involved in the snow fight and it’s everyone for themselves. Patrick crows when he manages to hit Theo on his thigh. His victory doesn’t last long. Barely a second later, he’s spitting out a snowball himself and chases after Dayna, who cackles at him. She tries to run around the fountain but she slip and falls on her side, dropping her head on the snow as she laughs.

“Oh, karma strikes again,” Patrick yells, firing a snowball at her.

He manages to dodge the one she throws back at him but a snowball from Theo hits him hard on his foot, causing him to trip and slip on the snow as well. The cold from the snow seeps through his hair, his wet curls sticking to his face. He’s barely in the process of getting up when he sees Jonny walking backwards. Before he can yell at Jonny to watch out, Jonny’s already tripping over Patrick's legs, the snow flying up around him as he lands on his ass.

“That’s cheating!” Jonny exclaims as soon as he spots Patrick on the ground, doubling over from laughter.

Patrick is still clutching at his middle as Jonny lurches across the ground, shoving a snowball into his face. His fingers are cold on Patrick’s heated skin, and he barely registers the snow sliding down his cheeks.

“Ugh,” Patrick coughs, wiping the snow away from his eyes. Jonny’s laughing at him, getting up from the ground. Patrick grabs at his ankle as he tries to walk away and pushes a handful of snow up his trouser leg.

“Jesus,” Jonny stammers, shaking his foot out of Patrick’s grasp and jumping on one foot as he tries to wipe at his ankle.

They continue bombarding each other with fast flying snowballs and pushing snow down each other’s coats. Patrick’s heart is racing in his chest and his lungs are burning from the freezing cold air. It has stopped snowing, but there are still snowflakes sticking to his wet lashes. He weakly waves his hand at Jonny, collapsing onto a pile of snow.

“God,” he wheezes, pressing his hands to his chest. “I’m gonna die.”

Jonny comes over and stands above him, hands on his hips. “Giving up already, Peeks?”

Patrick leans his head back, taking in Jonny’s flushed cheeks, his wet hair, and the bright flicker in his eyes.

“Fuck you,” he says weakly, clamping a hand around Jonny’s ankle and pushing him away, using Jonny’s imbalance to further push him over.

Jonny lands on his back in the snow, his ankle slung over Patrick’s. He lies down as well, catching his breath. Patrick watches the puffs of vapor disappear in the air and feels the wet cold seep through his jeans. There are stars twinkling in the black sky, peeking out between the dark clouds.

Patrick inhales sharply when Jonny’s face appears above him, close enough to make out the drops of water sliding down his temple.

“Hey,” Jonny breathes, his lips red and slightly chapped. Patrick knows he’s staring but he can’t look away, can’t think about anything other than pulling Jonny down on top of him.

“Hey,” he says back, his voice soft.

One of his hands finds the fabric of Jonny’s coat, holding on. He feels naked and vulnerable underneath Jonny’s gaze, and swallows hard. He’s about to do...something, when Jonny something shifts in Jonny’s gaze. Patrick watches him sit back up on his knees and lets Jonny pull him along by his arm.

“Let’s get inside before we catch pneumonia out here,” Jonny says, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Yeah,” Patrick says, a beat too late. He’s a little out of it and lets Jonny push him along to the entrance of the hall. The pressure of Jonny’s hand on the small of his back is barely noticeable through the thick fabric of his coat. Patrick feels it burn, anyway.

\--

On Christmas morning, Patrick takes his sweet time getting off to thoughts of riding Jonny’s cock, making Jonny whisper filthy things into his ear before flipping them over, pounding him into the mattress. After coming down from his orgasm for a solid fifteen minutes, Patrick cleans himself up and makes his way down the stairs.

It’s still early and he’s wearing a pair of leggings with the sweater he was wearing yesterday. Mrs. Babbington is twirling between his legs and he has to actively try to avoid tripping over her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going already,” he tells her, yawning obnoxiously as he rubs at his eyes. He pushes the door to the kitchen open with his hip and lets her slip in after him.

“I know,” he says, when Mrs. Babbington lets out another whiny meow. “I’m trying to find the new bag but I don’t know where Pete’s put it away.”

He tries not to bang the doors of the cabinets as he goes through them, trying to search for the bag that contains Mrs. Babbington’s kibble. She's back to winding her tail around his legs, looking into the cabinets as if she doesn’t trust him to find her food.

“Got it,” Patrick sighs, grabbing the bag from the shelf and closing the door of the cabinet. “Let’s go, before anyone catches you in here.”

He holds the door open for her again and follows her down the hallway and up the stairs. He’s just passing the second floor landing when Jonny walks in from the hallway, sweatpants low on his hips and wearing a thin shirt.

Patrick snaps his mouth shut and says, “Morning.”

Jonny looks up, noticing them. “Oh, hey." His voice is low, and his hair is a mess. “Up already?”

“Forgot to bring this up to my apartment,” Patrick says, holding up the bag of cat food.

Jonny gives him a sleepy grin, bending down as Mrs. Babbington walks over to him. He pets her down her back, rubbing his fingers behind her ears. “She must’ve given you hell for you to get up.”

“You know she did,” Patrick says, feeling a fond smile curl on his lips when Mrs. Babbington butts her head against Jonny’s knee. “Anyway, I’m going back up. Gotta feed this little monster and then try to get another hour of sleep in."

Jonny nods and yawns. He lifts Mrs. Babbington up to his face and gives her a kiss on her head, before setting her down.

Patrick’s halfway up the stairs when Jonny asks, “Do you wanna go skating?”

“Now?” Patrick asks, lifting the bag of cat food onto his other arm.

“God, no,” Jonny pulls a face. “I dunno, this afternoon or something? You’re not on kitchen duty for dinner again, are you?”

Patrick shakes his head. “No, I’m not. But uh, yeah. I could do with a good skate.”

“Good,” Jonny says, giving him a slow smile. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah, okay. See you.”

Mrs. Babbington whines again, making a jump for the bag of kibble.

\--

It’s not snowing anymore as they walk to the rink. Patrick’s pushed his hands far into the pockets of his jacket and he’s wearing the earmuffs that Sharpy gave him as a Christmas present. Jonny looks significantly more awake, taking sips from his thermos, blowing out warm breaths that evaporate in the cold air.

He tries to rub some warmth into his fingers as Jonny opens up the door to the arena. It’s not that much warmer inside and Patrick feels his teeth chatter.

“Go on ahead,” Jonny says, “I’ll turn on the lights and everything.”

“Okay,” Patrick nods, hitching his sports bag a little higher on his shoulder and walking towards the locker room.

He’s already wearing his leggings, the fabric cold against his legs. His sports bag is next to him on the bench and he takes out his leg warmers, pulling them over his feet and letting them bunch around his ankles. The laces of his skates cut into his cold, red fingers as he tugs on them and ties them tightly.

Jonny comes in the dressing room and sits down next to him, taking out his skates. Patrick watches him pull them on and lace them up, and asks: “Are those the same skates that you skated in during your last season?”

“Nah,” Jonny says, winding the long laces around his ankle and tying them up. “Those were auctioned off for some charity, I think. These are new, since, I don’t know, I figured Shattuck would be a fresh start.”

“I thought you didn’t do superstitions,” Patrick teases, standing up from the bench and taking off his coat.

Jonny rolls his eyes but smiles, “I don’t. I just thought it was fitting.”

“I get it,” Patrick says, putting on a hoodie with a soft sheepskin lining. “I got new skates too when I came here. Only my last pair weren’t auctioned off. I think they’re in my grandmother’s house somewhere.”

Jonny grins but pushes his lips together when Patrick sends him a challenging look. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Smart.”

They trudge out of the locker room, Patrick wearing his white figure skates and Jonny in his black Vapors. Patrick gives Jonny a push while he’s taking of his guards, Jonny scrambling to hold onto the boards.

“Fuck you,” Jonny says, no heat to it.

They push themselves over the boards, the ice glassy underneath their blades. The rink is quiet and empty, their skates and their breathing the only sounds that fill the air. Patrick breathes in deeply and feels himself relax, any tension that he was holding flows out of him as he moves smoothly along the boards.

For the first half hour, they don’t do much more than skating around, talking about their families and their careers. Patrick shows off a little, feeling validated when Jonny’s at a loss for words after Patrick does a triple Lutz right in front of him.

It’s when Jonny’s talking about his mom crying during his farewell game, that Patrick asks, “Why did you even retire?”

Jonny comes to a slow stop, turning around to face him.

“I mean,” Patrick gestures at him, “It’s not like you’re in a bad shape.”

A corner of Jonny’s mouth lifts. “Thanks, Peeks. It’s not one thing, I guess. There were different things and over the years they just became too big to ignore. And that’s when I decided to quit.”

“Okay?” Patrick says, frowning a little.

Jonny goes to sit on the edge of the boards, skates tapping against the side. Patrick skates over, standing in front of him.

“The official reason that the Blackhawks wrote down was that last year’s concussion had lingering side-effects, making it impossible for me to perform at my previous level. It was true, in a sense, because I still get days with terrible headaches and I still have trouble sleeping. On its own, though, it wasn’t that big of an issue that I would have to retire over it.”

“Oh,” he says, “Why didn’t the Blackhawks release the full story, then? What else was up?" He notices Jonny looking off to the side, front teeth worrying his lower lip. “Personal issues?”

“You could say that,” Jonny says, clearing his throat. He looks back up and meets Patrick’s eyes. “I had a steady boyfriend for two years. The team didn’t know, but the organization did.”

“Oh, shit,” Patrick whispers, eyes growing wide. He ignores the hopeful voice yelling in his head, trying to focus on what Jonny’s saying. “Did Sharpy know?”

Jonny shrugs. “Back then, I never told him outright, but I’m pretty sure he knew. We only discussed it after he’d retired and I came up to his and Abby’s place during the summer. My own retirement announcement came about a month later.”

“But if the organization knew, then they were fine with it right?”

“They said they were fine with it, but,” Jonny pulls a face. “I never told the team because, technically, I wasn’t allowed. About a year ago, I told them I wanted to tell the team and follow it up with a general statement to the public.”

“Wow,” Patrick says, swallowing. “That’s really brave, Jon.”

“I didn’t do it, though, did I?” Jonny says, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.

“They didn’t want you to?”

“No, they didn’t. They told it to me point blank, that the Blackhawks weren’t going to pioneer the first gay NHL-poster boy. I should’ve known really, management was always on my case about being careful and keeping everything with Darren on the down-low.”

“Darren’s the boyfriend?” Patrick asks, his fingers curling in the lining of his hoodie’s pockets.

“He was,” Jonny nods. “Put up with a lot of shit, too, both from me and from what I was and represented.”

“So what happened?”

Jonny takes a deep sigh, pushing his hands into the kangaroo pocket on his hoodie. “I just couldn’t put up with it anymore. I turned thirty, I was recovering from a concussion, and my relationship was slowly disintegrating because I couldn’t come out. And after we didn’t make the play-offs, I just didn’t want to go through the whole spiel again. Training, pre-season, playing at least eighty games and being away from home so much, all for an organization that only supported the part of me that they wanted to see. So I...initiated the process. Two weeks later, I was retired.”

“Jesus,” Patrick breathes, shaking his head. “That’s fucked up.”

“It is,” Jonny agrees. “But I’m not blaming them for the whole thing. I played the part, too. I’m still fucking playing the part, even, because I haven’t come out yet.”

“Why haven’t you?” Patrick asks, pushing the toe pick of his skate into the ice.

“Darren and I broke up a while back. He didn’t want to come to Shattuck with me, which I totally get. And over the years, the battery had just gone empty. So without him, there’s nothing pushing me to come out, nothing to come out for.”

“You could come out for yourself?” Patrick says. “I mean, I did. And it doesn’t have to be the grand statement that you’re making it up to be. No banners, no cameras, no showy rainbow campaigns. Just...like this, between you and me. Between you and Sharpy ‘n Abs. Between you and your world, not _the_ world.”

Jonny’s quiet for a while, looking down at his skates and creating grooves in the ice. Eventually, he says, “I didn’t know you were gay.”

“Bi, actually,” Patrick says, and then shrugs. “A male figure skater who isn’t straight but is straight-passing doesn’t really make for a shocking headline. I quit hockey before I started realizing it, too, so.”

“So you avoided the shit show I went through,” Jonny finishes. “You know, I kept feeling sorry for you that you had to quit hockey, but now I’m not so sure anymore.”

Patrick shrugs. “We all have our paths to follow.”

“Okay, Oprah,” Jonny snorts.

“Actually, that's a Donna Kane.”

Jonny gives him a soft smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“About the path you have to follow?” Patrick asks, frowning a little.

“Sort of,” Jonny says. “About coming out. It’s just gonna take a while for me to get used to it.”

“That’s fine,” Patrick shrugs. “Take your time. The point is that it’s your choice and what you want to do.”

Jonny looks visibly relieved when he nods, his shoulders drawn up less tightly and the tension disappearing from around his eyes.

“Now, do you have some sticks laying around here, or what?” Patrick asks, skating over to where he’d dropped his blade guards.

“What?” Jonny asks, looking puzzled.

“I figured that you’re not gonna stop feeling sorry for me until I beat you, so. Get your ass over the boards and find us some sticks and pucks. I’m gonna steal Theo’s Vapors from his locker.”

He turns around, but not before catching the bright smile on Jonny’s face.

Five minutes later, he gets back onto the ice. He shucks his hoodie over the boards and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt. Jonny’s pushing the second goal into place, and there’s two sticks on the center of the ice. Patrick skates up to it and grabs one. It’s taped up a bit sloppily and the length isn’t completely right, but he’s had worse.

Jonny throws and catches the puck in his right hand, a determined glint to his eyes. “Four out of seven?”

“It’s not like it’s gonna make a difference, Tazer,” Patrick grins, pushing his tongue in his cheek.

Jonny’s eyes visibly darken and he sneers, “Bring it on, Peeks.”

Jonny drops the puck and Patrick is in heaven. It’s exhilarating, using the ice like this and feeling his competitive nature come bursting back to the surface. And even though Theo’s skates are slightly too big for his feet, and his stick is just shy of being too long for him, and his ankles are screaming at him, Patrick feels incredible. The cold air of the rink burns in his lungs as he pants, pushing and shoving against Jonny to get to the puck. He uses his flexibility and lightness to twirl and dodge around Jonny, the puck almost glued to his tape. His heart stutters when he manages to get the puck past Jonny’s goal, and it skips a full beat when Jonny barges into him, whooping in his ear as if they’re playing on the same team.

They keep going, though, and after fifteen minutes, they’ve both scored three goals. Patrick feels his jaw click as he clenches it, his fingers steady but firm on his stick. Jonny’s got a dirty mouth, cursing at Patrick and at the game. It makes Patrick’s cheeks flush with warmth, imagining Jonny talking such filth to him while he fucks his cock inside. He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a few seconds to try and regain focus. They’ve made it to the center of the ice, battling for the puck and he’s nearly grabbed it away from Jonny, when Jonny uses his shoulder to push Patrick away. The split-second it takes for him to regain his balance is all Jonny needs to fire his shot across the ice.

Patrick doesn’t even watch it goes in, knows that it did, and launches himself at Jonny. They fall and skid across the ice, Jonny wheezing with laughter and throwing up his arms in victory.

“Fuck you!” Patrick pants, crawling over Jonny and pushing his fists against Jonny’s chest. “Fucking cheater.”

It just makes Jonny laugh harder, the sound arrogant and loud in the empty arena. Patrick scrambles to get up, ready to leave Jonny on the ice. But Jonny’s anticipated his move and holds on to his elbow. Patrick loses his balance again and finds himself pushed over onto his back. He looks up to find Jonny bracing himself above him, and the sight of him is so close to the memory of last night, that Patrick momentarily forgets to breathe.

“I won, Peeks,” Jonny grins, breathing harshly. His hands are on Patrick’s biceps, keeping him trapped.

“Fuck you,” Patrick sneers, trying to get up but feeling the lump in his throat seize when Jonny tightens his grip on him. He feels his cock twitch in his leggings and feels a tingle of pleasure stirring in his stomach.

“What do I get, huh?” Jonny asks, giving a jerk with his chin.

“You can get fucked,” Patrick huffs, driving his skates into the ice and using the leverage to try and push Jonny off of him. He’s nearly managed it, but then Jonny’s face is suddenly a lot closer to his and he stops moving.

From this close, he can see the tiny specks of green in Jonny’s eyes and the hint of stubble covering his cheeks. He can feel Jonny’s warm breath on his face and his eyes fall on Jonny’s lips. He’s only looking for just a second, maybe even less, but when their eyes meet again, he knows that Jonny noticed.

He’s barely sucked in a breath when suddenly, Jonny lips are on his. Patrick’s body goes numb, and his eyes are wide open. When Jonny starts moving his lips, he exhales in a rush and feels his body relax. He begins reacting to the kiss, moving his lips against Jonny’s and feeling the warmth of them. His fingers and toes are tingling and he reaches a hand up to yank Jonny’s beanie off of his head, burying his fingers in Jonny’s hair.

Jonny makes a needy sound, deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue between Patrick’s lips. Jonny’s tongue is warm and soft, sliding against and around Patrick’s own tongue. He’s lifts his head slightly, trying to get more. His fingers slip from Jonny’s hair to his cheekbones and he rubs the pads of his thumbs across the stubble on Jonny’s jaw.

He’s about to turn his head, feeling a cramp in his neck, when Jonny suddenly pulls back and sits up.

“Shit, sorry,” Jonny says, his breath coming out in small bursts.

“No, it’s fine,” Patrick begins, but Jonny cuts him off,

“It’s just…the hockey and the talk we had. I’m sorry, I’m being an asshole. You’re the first guy in months that’s also… and I just, fuck, I let myself go. It’s not fair, I’m sorry.”

“No, Jonny,” Patrick protests, watching Jonny get up. “Wait up!” He wants to explain, wants to yell at Jonny that he’s fucking in love with him. But Jonny’s already at the other side of the rink, pushing himself over the boards.

“Fuck,” Patrick grits out between his teeth, letting his head fall back onto the ice. His fingers stretch out and find Jonny’s beanie. Clenching his fingers into the wool, he lets out a harsh breath. He stays there, staring at the metal roof of the arena for what feels like an eternity. The sound of the entrance door shutting harshly is what shakes him out off it.

He gets up from the ice and makes his way to the locker room. Everything that Jonny brought to the rink is gone, and Patrick swallows hard. He goes through the motions mechanically, his head filled with a blaring noise that prevents him from thinking. He cleans up Theo’s skates and pushes them back into the locker.

And if he slams the door of the locker with an angry force, well. He’ll just blame it on losing the game.

\--

In the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, he spends a lot of time in his apartment. Mrs. Babbington gets sick, so he’s got a valid excuse to skip any group activities such as meals and walks in the snowy woods. He stays with her while she goes through a period of barely eating anything and sleeping uninterrupted for eight hours straight. Two days before New Year’s, he finds a puked-up frog on the floor of the kitchenette. Mrs. Babbington is sitting on her perch by the fireplace, looking down at him as he cleans it up. After that ordeal, she’s back to her old self.

Patrick finds out that avoiding Jonny comes with a lot of time to think, unfortunately. He’s faced rejection before, but none of those people ever kissed him like they’d been dying for it, only to tell him after that they only did it because he was _there._ Because that’s what happened between them, basically. Jonny first gay kiss after he’d decided to come out to anyone outside of his friends and family and the Blackhawks’ extended environment.

He went through the motions of being supportive when Jonny came out to the teaching staff during an XL game of Monopoly last night. He smiled and nodded and avoided Jonny’s eyes whenever they tried to find his.

It sucks being in love with a straight man, Patrick thinks. Being in love with a gay man, who doesn’t like him in that way, sucks even more. It’s like those times when he was little, when Erica would stand on the dinner table and dangle his skates from the laces. Every time she’d let them sink a little, he’d thought: “Yes, I’ll get them, I can reach!”, only for her to yank them back up when he’d make a jump for them.

He paces a lot, from his bed to his bathroom to his chair to the kitchen, and back again. Trying to get rid of the thoughts, of the memories. Jonny’s eyes on him as he gives training to Diana. Jonny’s warm fingers, sliding against his as he hands Patrick a stack of books on astrophysics that he’d found at a second-hand bookstore. The crinkling of the skin around Jonny’s eyes when he plays with Sadie on the floor of the living room. The shift of the muscles in his arms when he picks Mrs. Babbington up, singing the first notes of _Circle of Life_ as he holds her up above his head.

Currently, he’s on his bed and crying a little, because the day has been gloomy and gray and he’s feeling sorry for himself. There’s a knock on his door and his breath lodges in his throat. He gets up from his mattress and pads over to the door, tugging the hem of his sweater down.

He opens the door and feels himself deflate, giving Sharpy a small smile. “Hey. You need a babysitter?”

Sharpy shakes his head, looking at Patrick for a second before stepping inside. “No, I’ve just put them to bed.”

“Oh,” Patrick says, not really having the energy to start a conversation. He moves to the side and gestures at the chair. He watches Sharpy sit down and asks, “You, uh, want something to drink?”

Sharpy lets out a sigh. “No, Peeks. You know why I’m here. Why don’t you tell me what went down between you and Jonny that has you holing up here for the past two days, and has him looking like someone’s destroyed his tower garden thing.”

Patrick sinks down in the chair across from Sharpy and pulls his knees up, resting his chin on it. “Nothing.”

Sharpy ignores his lie. “Did you guys fight again?”

“No.”

“Did he say something about figure skating?”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “No, he didn’t say anything about that either.”

“Just tell me what happened,” Sharpy says, slouching a little in his chair. “You two have been inseparable for the past month and now suddenly he’s coming out and you can’t even look at him anymore.”

Patrick chews on the inside of his cheek, and looks down when he feels Mrs. Babbington headbutting his toes. He lets out a sigh and says, “Jonny kissed me.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah.”

“So?’ Sharpy insists. “It’s not like you didn’t want that to happen, right?”

“Oh, I wanted it, alright,” Patrick frowns. “It’s just that Jonny didn’t.”

Sharpy mirrors his expression, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “So _he_ kissed _you_ , but he didn’t want to? How does that even work?”

“Fuck if I know,” Patrick huffs. “He kissed me, and it was a real kiss, tongue and everything - don’t make that face - and suddenly he pulls back and starts rambling about what a mistake it is and how he’s an asshole. That last part I kind of agree with.”

“Now, listen to me,” Sharpy says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Jonny is crazy about you, like, absolutely gone, okay? If you let him go on, he’ll talk about you for hours. So don’t think he’s not into you, because he is. It’s frankly disgusting how he thinks you’ve hung the fucking moon.”

A flicker of hope lights up Patrick’s insides and he feels a smile tug at his lips. He shuts it down fast, though, shaking his head. “Apparently not, eh.”

“You’re even talking like each other!” Sharpy exclaims, falling back against the backrest of the chair. “Honestly, you two are so hopeless. It’s like you’re allergic to open communication.”

“Okay, Mister Open Communication, I’m pretty sure Abby never told me any stories about how good you are at talking.”

“It’s not about me,” Sharpy says, holding up his index finger and pointing it at Patrick. “It’s about you and that huge torch you’re holding for Jonny.”

Patrick wipes at his eyes, feeling drained. “Whatever,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling completely done with Jonny and talking about him. “It’ll pass. Classes are starting in a week, and I’ll keep myself busy coaching and working on my own studies.”

“Sure,” Sharpy says, looking at him skeptically. “And, what? In the meantime you’re gonna cry yourself to sleep every night? You need to sort this out.”

“I’m not gonna cry myself to sleep, c’mon.”

“What were you doing before I knocked on your door? And if you’re gonna lie, just stay silent.”

Patrick purses his lips together and doesn’t say anything.

“That’s what I thought,” Sharpy says, standing up with a groan. “C’mere.” He tugs Patrick out of his seat and into a hug. Patrick lets his head fall on Sharpy’s shoulder, holding on tightly.

“Talk to him,” Sharpy presses, stepping back from the hug.

“I will,” Patrick lies.

\--

Patrick is chewing on a cracker by the kitchen counter the following morning, when Peter walks into the kitchen. He’s carrying Mrs. Babbington, who is loudly purring and licking his hand.

“Hey, Pat,” Peter says, coming over to where he’s standing.

“Mornin’ Pete,” Patrick mumbles around his mouthful of cracker. He swallows and takes a big sip of water from his glass. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, taking out a folded up paper and handing it to Patrick. “It’s the order I placed for tonight’s fireworks but I’m stuck here with a million things to do. Sharpy was gonna drive me since he has the larger and more dependable car, so do you wanna join him?”

“When do I ever,” Patrick retorts, grinning when Peter laughs. “But sure, I’ll do it. Otherwise I’d just be pestering Dayna all day about what she’s making for tonight.”

He folds the paper open and goes over the order list. He whistles appreciatively as his eyes skim over the products. “Nice stuff you bought, Pete. This could blow up the school.”

“Don’t tell Stoneman but on some days I wish it would,” Peter grimaces, and Patrick laughs.

“I’ll just assume that the school’s empty whenever you think about that,” Patrick says diplomatically, folding up the paper and stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans. “Where’s Sharpy?”

“Outside I think,” Peter waves in the direction of the courtyard. “He went to get his car about five minutes ago so he should be ready.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna go grab my coat then,” Patrick says, bending down to put his plate in the dishwasher. “You did already pay for it, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, setting Mrs. Babbington down and watching her go over to where Patrick’s standing, searching the floor for any food. “Everything’s taken care of.”

“Cool, I’ll see you when we get back,” Patrick says, walking out of the kitchen.

He quickly goes up to his apartment and is shrugging on his coat as he makes his way outside. Sharpy’s car is parked near the steps, and he walks up to it. He opens the door on the passenger’s side, and moves to get in when he suddenly sees Jonny sitting behind the wheel.

“Where’s Sharpy?” he asks, one foot in the car.

Jonny’s looking at him in confusion. “Sharpy told me he had to take Maddie’s teddy bear to the tailor’s. Where’s Pete?”

Patrick lets out a sigh, already realizing what’s going on. He gets in the car and closes the door. “Peter’s stuck here, as he apparently has a million things to do.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Patrick clears his throat, looking out of the window and not meeting Jonny’s eyes. “I guess you better start driving before the store closes.”

It’s silent for a while, but then he hears Jonny shifting in his seat and turning the key in the ignition. Patrick looks whether he can see Sharpy grinning behind one of the windows, so he can hold up his middle finger to him, but Sharpy’s nowhere to be seen.

The drive to Faribault is less than twenty minutes, and they stay silent during the entire ride. Patrick spends his time looking at the passing trees and the white landscape. When Jonny clears his throat, sounding as he’s going to speak up, Patrick reaches over to the radio and turns the sound up. Jonny stays quiet after that.

The fireworks store is operating out of a warehouse and Patrick can see that it’s busy, cars parked on the lot and people carrying boxes out of the store. Jonny parks the car as close to the door as he can. Patrick gives him a look as he undoes his seatbelt. “You coming in with me or staying put?”

“I’m coming in,” Jonny says, also undoing his seatbelt and getting out of the car.

They walk into the store together and Patrick notices that they’re getting looks. No, _Jonny’s_ getting looks. While Patrick goes up to the counter and puts the order list down, Jonny’s busy talking to some fans and signing baseball caps. One guy’s even wearing a Hawks shirt, and looks about five seconds away from crying.

The boxes are being stacked on the counter and Patrick turns around, whistling. “Jonny,” he calls out.

Jonny looks up and excuses himself from the people he’s talking with. “Sorry 'bout that,” he says, grabbing two boxes. “Should’ve stayed put.”

“It’s fine,” Patrick shrugs, “let’s just get these to the car.”

They both take another trip back inside to pick up the last few boxes and stack them up in the trunk of Sharpy’s car. Patrick takes the car keys from Jonny and gets behind the wheel. He ignores the tug of a smile on Jonny’s lips when he has to pull up the chair a few inches to reach the pedals.

As they drive out of the parking lot, Jonny waves at a few fans who are standing by their own cars. Patrick can’t help but stifle a grin.

“What?” Jonny asks, looking over at him.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says, shaking his head. “But you look like the damn queen of England, waving like that.”

“It’s polite,” Jonny frowns.

“Alright,” Patrick says dismissively, turning on his blinker and taking a turn.

He thinks the ride home will also pass in silence, but three minutes away from campus, Jonny suddenly turns the radio off and turns slightly in his seat.

“Peeks.”

The nickname suddenly annoys him, and he bites out, “What? We’re almost there.”

“I told you I’m sorry. About kissing you.”

Patrick bares his teeth in annoyance and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I know how fucking sorry you are Jonny. I know kissing me was just one huge mistake and you’d take it all back if you could. I get it.”

He turns onto the driveway of St. Mary’s hall and parks in front of the steps. After taking the keys out of the ignition, he opens the door and looks at Jonny: “I know you wanna forget it happened, but I can’t, okay? I need some time to get over my feelings for you and even then I don’t know if we can ever just be friends.” He grimaces, “In this case it’s literally me, not you, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”

He barely allows himself to register the surprise on Jonny’s face, as he gets out of the car and walks around it, opening the trunk. He takes out two boxes and leaves the trunk open. Sharpy is on the steps, bouncing Sadie on one arm.

“You better have been taking care of a broken teddy bear because otherwise that was a dick move,” Patrick says, as he walks past him and goes inside.

\--

He tries in vain to get out of the rest of the day’s activities, fully intending to spend his New Year’s Eve trying to prevent Mrs. Babbington from leaping to her own death in despair. So far, she’s sleeping peacefully on the mantle of the fireplace, so his life-saving capabilities aren’t needed yet.

Abby corners him after the evening dinner they’ve just had, roping him into a game of _Settlers of Catan_. Patrick starts out sharing his pawns with Maddie, who plays around with them. But somewhere after nine, Maddie’s fallen asleep on his lap, her head nestled against his shoulder. It’s a good thing, because Patrick catches Jack cheating and Maddie’s the only thing in between him and flipping over the board.

After settling the case and taking two points away from Jack, Patrick is in the lead for a while. He wiggles his head in celebration when he gets another point for connecting his settlements, but quiets down quickly when Maddie begins to rub at her eyes. His gaze locks with Jonny, who’s playing darts with Sharpy and Don on the other side of the room. Jonny’s changed into a soft blue sweater and expensive-looking jeans, and Patrick takes his eyes away from him with difficulty. He chews on his lower lip as he tries to focus on the game, frowning when Abby takes the lead.

Every time he manages to sneak a glance in Jonny’s direction, Jonny is already looking at him. It makes the back of Patrick’s neck tingle and he feels a flush rising on his cheeks. There’s something else in Jonny’s eyes, something that wasn’t there this afternoon, and it unsettles him. He tries to focus on the game, laughing obnoxiously when he manages to put a city down in a spot where Abby wanted to. Sharpy comes over and takes Maddie into his arms. He moves over to stand between Abby and Jack, watching the game. Patrick almost jumps when he feels Jonny standing somewhere behind him, his hands on the backrest of Patrick chair, on the outside of his shoulders.

“Who’s winning?” Jonny asks, and his voice sounds so close, he must be standing right behind him.

Patrick swallows, his eyes almost burning a hole through the board. “Abby is.”

He tries to focus on the game, ignoring the way Sharpy is clearly helping out his wife, and trying to ignore Jonny’s presence. It’s impossible, though, because Jonny moves his hands closer together on the backrest, his fingers touching Patrick’s arms. The close contact makes him feel jittery and on edge. He ends up missing the space between Abby’s settlements growing smaller, and when she connects it, he lets his head fall on his arms.

“Two points!” she laughs, “That’s ten points in total, I win!”

“How did I not see that?” Patrick whines, throwing his remaining cards on the table. He’s ready to start of on a rant how Sharpy was helping Abby, when Theo suddenly says, “Fifteen minutes until midnight!”

Patrick gets up from his chair, eyes briefly meeting Jonny’s before he turns towards the table and says, “I’m gonna check up on Mrs. Babbington. I’ve set up a spot for her in a cardboard box, but I don’t know if she’s gonna like it.”

“Okay, Patty,” Abby says, slowly threading her fingers through Maddie’s hair, who’s been waking up from the sounds of fireworks outside. “You’ll make it back in time, you think?”

“Probably,” Patrick says, walking towards the door. “Otherwise I’ll just kiss Mrs. Babbington when the clock strikes!”

\--

He’s crouched down in front of the fireplace, rubbing the pad of his index-finger across Mrs. Babbington’s nose. She’s nestled into the box that he’d placed on the floor in the little nook between his chair and the fireplace. There’s a loud bang outside, followed by a burst of blue light coming in from the window. He rubs a hand down Mrs. Babbington’s spine, caressing her soft fur. She’s not purring like she usually is, but he doesn’t feel her trembling either.

“Yeah, you’re a cold one, huh,” he smiles, leaning in to give her a kiss on the head.

He’s getting up from his knees when he hears a knocking on his door. Taking a quick look at the clock on his nightstand, he rolls his eyes and walks towards the door. “I’ve still got ten min--Oh.”

Jonny’s standing outside his door, one hand braced against the post. The hallway is dark, making his eyes look almost black.

“Um,” Patrick says, giving him a questioning look.

“I’m sorry,” Jonny says.

“God,” Patrick sighs, “I thought we went over this, you fucking Canadian.”

“No,” Jonny presses, stepping into Patrick’s apartment. “I should’ve told you how I felt.”

“You made that pretty clear too.” Patrick snorts derisively, crossing his arms.

“Fucking hell, just…”

“Just what? ‘Just get over yourself?’, yeah, well, I’m trying, okay?”

Patrick barely registers Jonny closing in on his space, feels his heart stutter when Jonny cups his cheeks and brings their foreheads together.

“Just. Shut up,” Jonny whispers, and he closes the last two inches between their lips. He steps further into Patrick’s space, making Patrick tilt his head up to keep their mouths lodged together. Jonny’s fingers spread out wide across Patrick’s cheeks before one hand slides up into his hair, tangling in his curls.

Patrick feels his insides alight with fire and he hungrily responds to Jonny’s kiss, urging himself to register and remember the feeling of Jonny’s soft lips against his own. Jonny kisses like he plays hockey, pushy, dominant, and really fucking good at it. It makes his toes curl in his socks and he feels his cock twitching in his briefs. He makes a protesting noise when he feels Jonny pull back.

“Fuck, Peeks,” Jonny whispers, pressing his lips against Patrick’s cheekbone as he pushes their bodies closer together. “You’re so… God, I wanna do everything to you. Wanted to since I first saw you. You’re so pretty when you’re angry, you know that?”

“Jonny,” Patrick whines, feeling hope and relief spread inside his chest. He licks his lips and tightens his fingers in the fabric of Jonny’s shirt.

“Sharpy told me you liked me, is he right? Is that why you’re angry, you thought I didn’t want you?” Jonny asks, his lips against the bone of Patrick’s jaw, his breath hot on the sensitive skin.

“I don’t just like you, Jonny,” Patrick breathes, pulling back to meet Jonny’s eyes. He swallows hard before he says the words. “I’m in love with you.”

He feels raw in the seconds after, and it all seems to slow down while Jonny’s eyes look into his, blinking slowly. The smile that spreads across Jonny’s face is brighter than the winter sun, and Patrick mirrors it.

“I love you, too,” Jonny says, tangling his fingers in Patrick’s curls. “Didn’t think you cared about me like that.”

Patrick feels himself be tugged along and he lets out a breathy laughs when Jonny presses him up against the door. “I shouldn’t, because you’re an asshole.”

“You like that,” Jonny says, a cocky grin on his face.

“Yeah, I fucking do,” Patrick mutters, closing his hands around Jonny’s neck and hauling him back into a kiss. He opens his lips and lets Jonny’s tongue in, curling his arms around Jonny’s neck.

Jonny kisses possessively and all-encompassing, taking all thoughts away from Patrick’s brain. Jonny’s tongue is warm and slick in his mouth, and he’s making these harsh, breathy noises anytime Patrick curls his tongue a certain way. He feels Jonny’s hands slip along his back and push up under the hem of his sweater. His hands are large and warm on Patrick’s back, fingers skipping over the grooves of his vertebrae. Patrick moans when he feels Jonny’s hands slip downwards, pausing on his hips.

“C’mon,” he mutters against Jonny’s lips, sliding his tongue obscenely along Jonny’s in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Fuck, Peeks,” Jonny grits out against Patrick’s mouth. He’s pushing his hands past the waistband of Patrick’s sweats, grabbing onto his ass and grinding their hips together. Patrick lets out a noise from between his teeth, feeling the hard length of Jonny’s cock through the fabric of their pants. Jonny’s big, his cock a hard ridge in his jeans.

“Jonny,” he sighs, tilting his head back when Jonny starts licking and sucking at his neck. He jerks when Jonny bites down on the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet.

“I wanna get you off,” Jonny whispers against the skin of Patrick’s neck. “Wanna see you come on my cock, taking me deep inside. You want that?”

Patrick feels himself blushing furiously, his cock fattening up inside his briefs. He feels a wet patch of his boxers rub against the sensitive head of his cock. “Fuck,” he breathes, feeling Jonny’s fingers splay over his ass cheeks. Jonny grabs onto them harder, his fingertips dipping into the crack of Patrick’s ass. “Yeah,” he whines, “I want that. Want you to fuck me.”

Jonny pulls back from where he’d been mouthing at Patrick’s collarbone and his eyes are wild when he looks at Patrick. He breathes heavily, thumbing at Patrick’s bottom lip. It’s fat and swollen, and Patrick knows Jonny can see his own teeth marks.

They both jump when there’s suddenly loud cheers coming from outside, the air lighting up with fireworks. Patrick feels the sounds of the fireworks reverberating through his body and he looks up at Jonny.

“Happy New Year,” he whispers.

Jonny smiles, his eyes dark and his lips wet from Patrick’s spit. “Happy New Year,” he mutters against Patrick’s lips, giving him a quick kiss.

“God, your mouth,” Jonny says, slipping his index and middle finger in between Patrick’s lips. Patrick starts sucking on them, tonguing at the skin of Jonny’s fingers. He looks up, eyes locking with Jonny’s. “Ngh,” Jonny moans, staring at Patrick’s mouth and slowly fucking his fingers in and out. “So fucking pretty.”

Patrick closes his eyes at that and lets himself relax into it, sucking sloppily on Jonny’s fingers. He feels Jonny’s cock move against his, Jonny grinding their hips together in the same rhythm as Patrick’s sucking on his fingers.

Jonny’s still got a hand on his ass, and he lets his fingers slide in between Patrick’s ass cheeks. A shock of pleasure and anticipation goes through him when Jonny rubs the pad of his index finger across his hole, pushing a little.

Patrick looks at Jonny intently and Jonny slips his fingers out of his mouth. “Stop teasing,” Patrick says, arching into Jonny’s touch.

“Yeah?” Jonny asks, his breath sending a warm gust of air across Patrick’s mouth. “What do you want?”

“Want you,” Patrick mumbles, fingers curling at the nape of Jonny’s neck. “Want you to mess me up.”

Jonny grins. “I can do that. Push you around a little, huh?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nods, licking his lips. “Make me take it.”

“I can take care of that,” Jonny promises, eyes dark. “You’re gonna look so pretty on my cock, Peeks. Gonna keep you there until you’re begging for me to let you come.”

Patrick closes his eyes, nodding again. “C’mon, Jonny.”

“Fuck,” Jonny mutters, breathing in harshly through his nose. “You know what they say right, about figure skaters and hockey players?”

“That we’re gagging for your dick?”

“Never noticed that before,” Jonny mutters, tugging Patrick’s lower lip down with the pad of his thumb. “But now I’m seeing it. Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll feel it for days.”

Patrick lets Jonny pull him away from the door, swaying a little on his feet. Outside, the fireworks are cracking and blowing up bright colors into the sky. It creates colored shadows in his room. A bright red firework casts a red haze across Jonny’s face as he walks Patrick to the bed. Patrick grins when Jonny gives him a push against the center of his chest, and goes down easily on the mattress.

His grin fades when Jonny pulls his sweater over his head, the undershirt going as well. Jonny’s gorgeous, all long lines and beautifully shaped muscles. The cut of his hips makes Patrick’s mouth water and he wants nothing more than to lick a wet stripe across the skin there.

The cocky smirk on Jonny’s lips when he notices him staring makes him both aroused and annoyed, and he pulls at Jonny’s belt.

“Impatient, are we?” Jonny asks, leaning in to press a quick kiss against Patrick’s lips. He steps out of Patrick’s reach and continues undressing, until he’s only in a tight pair of black briefs.

Patrick chews on his lower lip while Jonny gets on the bed, bracing himself over Patrick. He ducks down a bit to kiss and suck at Patrick’s neck, making Patrick thrash around a little. “Jonny, c’mon.”

Jonny sits back up, his ass right on Patrick’s cock. Patrick clenches his jaw, grinding up against him.

“Let’s get this off,” Jonny says, pulling at the hem of Patrick’s hoodie. Patrick rises up slightly, feeling the tension in his abs as Jonny tugs his hoodie over his head. Jonny doesn’t look where he throws the piece of clothing, his eyes skimming across Patrick’s bare torso. He scoots down further on the bed and gets his hands on the waistband of Patrick’s sweats. They go off easily and get dropped somewhere next to the bed.

When Jonny lies back down on top of him, covering him completely, Patrick feels the hard length of Jonny’s cock against his hip. It feels even bigger like this, with only the thin fabric of their briefs separating them. Jonny grinds against him, creating a torturing friction that has Patrick breathing shallowly. He feels Jonny’s boxers slipping down, the head of his cock smearing wetness on the skin of Patrick’s thigh.

“Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick sighs, “Wanna taste you.”

“Yeah?” Jonny asks, eyes locking with Patrick’s as he grinds up against his hip again.

Patrick nods and squeezes Jonny’s tight ass with both his hands. That gets Jonny moving, listing to the side and taking Patrick’s place. As he positions himself over Jonny’s cock, he looks up to see Jonny pressing his nose into Patrick’s pillow, inhaling deeply. He swallows deeply, a warm tingle going down his spine.

Jonny’s cock springs free once Patrick’s tugged the briefs down. It’s hard, and slaps against Jonny’s lower stomach. The head is fat and shiny, and Patrick feels his mouth water.

He lowers his head and lets his spit pool on his tongue, before opening his mouth and lapping wetly at the head of Jonny’s cock. He gets the skin slick and slides his lips down, sucking in his cheeks as he moves back up.

“Fuck, Peeks,” Jonny groans, his hands petting at Patrick’s head before he curls his fingers in Patrick’s hair. “Look so fucking good like this, taking me in.”

Patrick lets out a soft sound around Jonny’s cock and twists his tongue around the head of Jonny’s cock, swallowing the salty burst of pre-cum. His own cock is heavy between his thighs, leaking in his boxers. He hardly notices it, focusing on Jonny and the way he’s so vocal about what Patrick’s doing.

He lets Jonny’s cock slip from his mouth, letting it slap against his face before moving down. Jonny’s leg jerks when Patrick closes his lips around his balls, sucking them into his mouth.

“Yes,” Jonny sighs, dragging the word out. He’s bracing his heels on the bed, his large thighs bracketing Patrick’s head.

Patrick gathers more spit in his mouth, sucking and licking around Jonny’s balls. It’s wet and filthy, and Jonny absolutely loves it, lightly pulling on Patrick’s curls. He clenches his hands on Jonny’s thighs when Jonny pulls again, a little harder.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Jonny garbles, releasing Patrick’s hair from his grip.

Patrick lets Jonny’s balls slip from his mouth and looks up at him. “Don’t stop. Fuckin’ love it.”

Jonny curses in French and grabs another handful of hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck, his hips trembling when Patrick begins to drag his tongue along the thick vein in his cock.

“Pat,” he sighs, caressing Patrick’s hair. “I’m not gonna last if you keep this up. And I wanna fuck you.”

Patrick rests his head on Jonny’s hip, before looking up and nodding towards the nightstand. “There’s lube in there.” His voice sounds rough already.

Two books fall from the nightstand when Jonny slaps a hand around it, and then he turns to look for the drawer. He takes out a bottle of lube and a condom, and moves to open the bottle. Patrick reaches up and takes it from him.

“I’ll do it,” he says, taking off his briefs and pushing them off the bed with his foot.

Jonny’s eyebrows knit together. “But I wanted to.”

“Yeah, well,” Patrick says, squirting out a dollop onto his fingers and settling back down between Jonny’s thighs, “I wanna keep sucking your dick.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jonny sighs, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “I fucking love you.”

Patrick grins, leaning down so he can suck Jonny’s dick back down his throat. His back is arched, his ass up in the air. When he circles his rim with two fingers, he feels Jonny’s cock jerk in his mouth. He pushes them in, his rim still a bit loose from when he fingered himself last night.

“Fuck, Pat, you should see yourself like this, with your ass up like that,” Jonny says, voice low and raspy.

Patrick takes Jonny’s cock deeper, feeling the head bump against the back of his throat. He sucks harder, and feels Jonny’s cock sink past his gag reflex. He tries to keep his breathing under control, but it’s hard. His own fingers skip across his prostate and he moans around Jonny’s cock.

He pulls back up, lapping at the head and catching his breath. Slowly, he pushes a third finger in. The stretch burns, and he breathes out a soft moan against the skin of Jonny’s cock. He curls his free hand around the base of Jonny’s cock, feeling the heat of it on his palm, and pushes the tip of his tongue against the slit.

“I can’t,” Jonny moans, his thighs trembling against the sides of Patrick’s head. “Fuck, tell me you’re ready, I gotta, fuck. I need to be inside you.”

Patrick pulls back and nods. He reaches for the condom and tears the wrapper open. The latex rolls easily down Jonny’s cock, and Patrick uses the lube to get it slick.

“C’mon,” Jonny says, leaning sideways to let Patrick lie back down on the pillow. He moves to hold himself up above Patrick, hands braced on either side of Patrick’s shoulders.

His legs circle Jonny’s waist on their own accord, and Patrick tugs him in closer. A breath escapes his lips when he feels the head of Jonny’s cock bump against his hole. He angles his ass up, bends his arms at the elbow and curls his hands around Jonny’s biceps.

“You okay?” Jonny mutters, moving his hips and dragging his cock over Patrick’s wet hole.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Patrick says, taking a few deep breath. He cracks a grin at Jonny, “Show me what you got, Toews.”

Jonny huffs, laughing softly. But then he’s leaning forward, his cock catching on the rim of Patrick’s hole. He slowly pushes his cock in, Patrick’s hole giving in to the pressure and the stretch.

“Fuck,” Patrick groans, dragging it out. He tightens his hands on Jonny’s arms when Jonny bottoms out, his hip bones flush against the cheeks of Patrick’s ass. It’s been a long time since he took anything other than his own fingers, the stretch burning him up. When Jonny shifts his weight, Patrick lets out a noise.

“Yeah?” Jonny asks, bending down to capture Patrick’s lips in a kiss.

Patrick nods into the kiss, “Yeah.”

Jonny pulls back and braces his hands on the mattress. The first drag of his cock as he moves out of Patrick’s hole is smooth, and Patrick crosses his ankles at the small of Jonny’s back. When he pushes back in, Patrick’s breath gets stuck in his throat. He feels so full, Jonny filling him up entirely.

The rhythm that Jonny sets up renders Patrick nearly speechless, the occasional “Fuck” and “God” passing his lips when Jonny pushes in hard. He arches his back when he feels the head of Jonny’s cock bump against his prostate, the blunt pressure making sparks of pleasure erupt in his stomach.

“You take it so good, Peeks,” Jonny groans, his hands moving towards Patrick’s hips to push his cock in harder, faster. “So pretty.”

Patrick brings his hands up to hold onto the headboard of his bed, pushing his chest up in the movement. Jonny bends down to lick across Patrick’s skin, bringing a hand up to thumb at his wet nipple.

“Jonny,” Patrick breathes, his hand covering Jonny’s on his chest. His cock, still untouched and sensitive, slaps against his stomach with every thrust of Jonny’s hip. A small puddle of pre-cum is gathering underneath his belly button.

Jonny sees it and drags his hand down from Patrick’s chest, swiping a thumb through the stickiness and sucking it into his mouth. Patrick closes his eyes at the sight, a spike of want shooting down his back.

“Love the way you taste,” Jonny mutters, his rhythm speeding up. Patrick’s sure they’re gonna be bruises on his hips tomorrow, with the way Jonny’s holding onto them. “Wanna suck you off next time, make you come on my tongue and feed it back to you.”

“Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick says, breath hitching with every sharp thrust of Jonny’s hips. “You and your filthy mouth.”

Jonny just grins at him, his lips red and shiny. He finds the right angle that makes Patrick lose his mind, his prostate getting nailed by Jonny’s cock on every thrust. His cock spurts another dribble of pre-cum on his abs and he brings one hand down from the headboard, curling his fingers around his cock.

His and Jonny’s moans mix when he begins tugging at his cock, the touch igniting him from the inside out .

“Yeah, Peeks, get yourself off. Show me,” Jonny pants, pushing his cock into Patrick’s hole all the way, grinding it deeper inside.

“‘m close,” Patrick whispers, keeping the grip on his cock tight and quick. The head is a furious shade of red and there’s pre-cum dribbling from the slit.

“I know,” Jonny nods, the rhythm of his hips growing erratic. “Me too. Want you to come on my cock.”

Patrick pushes his head back into the pillow, twisting his hand on his cock on every upstroke. A drop of sweat trickles down Jonny’s forehead, falling on his wrist. A hard thrust from Jonny against his prostate sends Patrick over the edge. White ropes of cum spurt from his cock, coating his hands and abs. His chest heaves as he pants harshly, relaxing into the mattress.

Jonny’s close too, he can feel it. His limbs are heavy but he tugs Jonny closer. He grabs onto Jonny’s ass with one hand, squeezing the flesh. “C’mon, in me.”

“Fuck,” Jonny grunts, fucking his cock in two more times before pushing in deep and stilling. Patrick feels Jonny’s cock twitch, feels the condom being filled with Jonny’s cum.

Jonny falls forward, bracing himself over Patrick on his forearms. Patrick rolls off the condom and ties it up, dropping it next to the bed. He brings his arms up to tug Jonny down completely, feeling himself calm down with the solid weight of Jonny’s body on top of him. He threads his fingers through Jonny’s hair, making the sweaty strands stand up at odd angles.

They stay like that for a few minutes, and Patrick begins registering the noises of the fireworks outside again. Jonny moves sideways, spooning up behind him. From the bed, they can just see the fireworks through the window. Patrick feels his eyelids go heavy, and lets them droop. Jonny’s lips pressing a kiss against his neck is the last thing he notices before drifting off to sleep.

\--

“It’s only logical, okay,” Sharpy urges, dismissing Patrick’s complaints and smacking two kisses on both of his cheeks. “We couldn’t wish you a Happy New Year’s last night, so it’s gotta happen right now.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” Patrick wipes at his cheeks, making a face. They’re standing in the middle of the living room, Don and Jack taking Mrs. Babbington out of the Christmas tree by the window.

“We don’t care,” Abby says sweetly, kissing both of his cheeks. She steps back and gives him a happy smile. “Happy New Year, Pat.”

“Thanks,” Patrick says, looking over to see Sharpy smooching Jonny’s cheeks. Jonny looks about five seconds away from giving Sharpy a knee in the crotch.

“I’d ask you what you were up to last night, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know,” Sharpy says, crossing his arms.

“You don’t,” Patrick assures him, feeling a blush crawl up his cheeks when Jonny gives him a look.

“Or this morning, for that matter,” Jonny drawls, smirking at Sharpy’s disgusted face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sharpy says, “I’m glad you kids got over yourselves.”

“As am I,” Abby nods. “At least I’ll have something to tell the girls from the back office when they get back for the Spring semester.”

Sharpy grins, tugging his wife in by her shoulder. “If there isn’t a phone tree already spreading the news.”

“Speaking of phones,” Jonny says, taking out his own. “I gotta go. I got an interview with USA Hockey Magazine in ten minutes.”

“About what?”

Jonny looks up from his phone and gives Patrick a small, intimate smile. “A coming out exclusive.”

\--

the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave some love! Any feedback is lovingly drooled upon. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://www.toewsin.tumblr.com), where I yell about Patrick's oral fixation and missing Artemi Panarin.


End file.
